Gazing Across the Wasted Years
by TMara
Summary: After Christine's debut performance the new patron Raoul de Chagny knows he must have her at any cost, if necessary, even marriage. There is her voice coach, though, a potential rival. But nothing can stop a de Chagny, right? Will he succeed or will love triumph in the end? E/C; AU, deviates from story after Christine's debut
1. And do I dream again?

Hi everybody,

I did promise you a new story, did I not? Well, here it is. And it is different from my previous ones in that it is not a continuation, but sort of a what-if or AU scenario, since it deviates from the story earlier on. This one starts with Christine's debut performance in "Hannibal" and the night after that, but things are developing a bit differently this time. As always, it will be E/C, as in: in the end our couple will be together and live happily ever after, but even though their hearts will find their way to each other sooner, their road to happiness will still be long and thorny.

So... let's get started, shall we? I hope you will all enjoy this story and show me your appreciation by reading, reviewing, putting on alert and adding to favorites! And please remember that I don't own these characters, not one of them! :-(

Chapter 1 – And do I dream again?

Raoul de Chagny was full of anticipation. He had just ordered his coachman to wait with the carriage in front of the main entrance of the Opéra Populaire and then to drive him and his company to one of the most extravagant restaurants of Paris – one that also had the reputation of being a bit "risqué", since it offered dining niches that could be closed to the public view by curtains, thus providing privacy to the customers inside.

Raoul grinned. What a coincidence that this enticing new prima donna was his old childhood friend Christine! It would be so easy to sweep her off her feet by reminding her of their shared past and the fact that they had already been childhood sweethearts. Certainly she would then understand that they were meant to be together and not fight him any longer?

Raoul thought about how utterly breathtaking she had looked in that white dress with the low cleavage, her bosom heaving with the effort of singing. He had then known that he had to have her, that this woman was meant for his bed and his bed alone. Of course, as the patron of the theater, he had a certain advantage, for he had the power to fire her or raise her salary, depending on how well she responded to his advances, and had she been a complete stranger, he would have tried that approach. But to his surprise, when he had studied the playbill to find out the name of his latest infatuation, he realized he had known her when they were children. He therefore decided he would play the good old friend first, building upon the trust they had shared all those years ago, and then, once she was least expecting it, seduce her.

No, Raoul shook his head. As much as he was burning with desire for Christine's exquisite body, he would not do anything too rush tonight. He would not even try to touch those alluring breasts. But nobody could forbid him to feast on the view of her delicious cleavage and to imagine tearing off the obstructive clothing. He licked his lips at the thought of her breasts bared to his view, to his touch, to his hungry mouth... Not today, but soon, very soon... And then he would not stop at her breasts...

He had reached her dressing room in the meantime, and, pasting his most seductive smile onto his face, he reached for the door handle and pressed it down. To his shock, the door was locked.

"What the..." he cursed underneath his breath. Had that blasted vixen been playing him? He had thought she had been pleased to see him again after all those years. True, she had not seemed over-enthusiastic at his suggestion to have supper with him, but then, she was a woman. She might have shown reluctance for propriety's sake, to keep up appearances, or, maybe she had guessed exactly what his plans in her regard were, and had tried to raise her price.

A wolfish grin distorted Raoul's handsome features. Of course! As the new prima donna Christine would want to be as friendly as possible with the patron, to further her career. But of course she also wanted to test him first, to see how far he would go in his desire to bed her. Was she hoping for more than his protection, his support of her career? Was she maybe even thinking to become his wife? Heck, she was so desirable, that in order to have her, he might even consider marriage. But that was only a last resort, if every other plan failed. So far, no woman had been able to resist his charms for long, and he was convinced that little Christine would be just like them. Sooner of later, she would succumb to him.

"Christine!" he therefore called, more sweetly than he had originally planned. "Open the door! It is me, Raoul, we want to go for supper, remember?"

It could not hurt to make it sound as if she had already agreed to dine with him, for the corridor was far from empty, other performers were leaving their dressing rooms, some on the arm of a lover, and he wanted to be overheard. He wanted people to talk about the fact that the patron was taking the prima donna out, he wanted their names to be tied together in people's minds. It would drive her into his arms even faster.

When nobody answered, he began to push the handle again, and more forcibly. "Christine!" he repeated, already a bit angry. "Why did you lock your door?"

Suddenly he froze. Had he heard a man's voice coming form Christine's dressing room? Was someone in there with her – behind a locked door? Did she already have a lover?

His blood pressure rose and he angrily rattled the door handle a few more times. "Who is in there with you, Christine?" he screamed. "Open the door at once!"

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Please, Monsieur," a stern voice spoke to him. "Calm down. You would not want to draw attention to yourself in such a way."

Raoul turned around and found himself face to face with a rather somber-looking woman of about forty. He vaguely remembered having seen her at his first visit to the Opéra Populaire, when Firmin and André had introduced him as the new patron. She was some higher level employee he remembered, though what exactly it was she did, he could not remember. In charge of props, maybe? Costume department? Choir, ballet? Probably one of these, he did not really care. Though, considering her position, it was likely that she would be able to procure a spare key to Christine's dressing room, and thus he was eager to enlist her help.

"Oh Madame," he therefore explained to her, his voice as charming as possible. "I need your help. Mademoiselle Daaé has promised to dine with me tonight, I just went to alert my driver and give her some time to change, and now when I return, her door is locked and I hear a man's voice from inside. I fear that some unsavory individual may have forced his way in there and is now taking advantage of her..."

To his utter shock, the lady gave him a very scrutinizing look, then simply answered, "Mademoiselle Daaé is with her voice coach. You need not concern yourself, Monsieur le Vicomte. Her teacher is a gentleman with impeccable manners. He would never take advantage of his student."

"Then why did they lock the door?" Raoul asked, more than a bit annoyed now.

"Obviously they did not want to be disturbed," the woman replied stiffly. "They are going over her performance today, discussing which parts went well and which passages she has to work on more in order to become perfect. Now, Monsieur, if you would be so kind and leave for tonight."

With those words, she turned on her heels and walked down the corridor.

Raoul seethed. It was clear that he would not get anywhere tonight. But it was also clear that he was meeting with more obstacles than he had expected. That impertinent hag was proof of it, as was this voice coach, whom he already thought of as a potential rival. Under these circumstances he needed allies as well.

Fortunately, he was the patron, and the Opéra Populaire's success largely depended on his financial support. He therefore knew exactly where to look for an ally. Whistling a merry tune, he headed towards the managers' office.

XXXX

Christine awoke. She blinked. Her mind still was a bit hazy, and it took her a while to realize where she was and how she had ended up there. It all still seemed like a dream. A most wonderful dream, to be exact. Almost too good to be true. For how likely was it that her beloved Angel of Music had finally shown himself to her? That he was not an angel after all, but a corporeal being like herself, a real person, a man...

How many times over the past few weeks or months had she dreamed of exactly this to happen? That her mysterious Angel would one day confess to her that he was a mortal man, desperately in love with her?

She once again shook her head. Of course this was nonsense. It could not be. Her Angel had been sent to her by her dead father years ago, he had comforted her in her grief over the loss of her father and later, much later, had helped her develop her voice. Yes, he meant the world to her. He knew and understood her better than anybody on this world, even better than her best friend and sister Meg, with whom she shared every secret. Except for one, the deepest of her secrets. Except for the fact that she thought she had slowly fallen in love with her Angel.

Christine sighed. She knew how stupid this sounded. How could one fall in love with an angel? As far as she knew, he was an ethereal being, unable to feel emotions like love. He did not even have a body she could touch, and she certainly had never seen whatever form or shape he possessed. He was a voice only, a voice that spoke to her, nurtured her, comforted her, helped her. He had given her the gift of her voice and been her guide, her moral support, her – everything, for years.

Christine had shared her most intimate thoughts and fears with him and he had always been understanding and able to help and advise her. Was it therefore so inconceivable that she wanted the man she would one day fall in love with to be just like him? To be as reliable, tender, knowledgeable, resourceful, understanding as her Angel?

But then, would she need somebody other than her Angel? Could she ever trust a real man the way she trusted him? And would she lose her Angel if she found a suitor? She certainly did not want to lose him, ever, for he was so dear to her, so incredibly dear. Once she had realized that, she had begun to daydream, thinking, hoping that one day a miracle would happen, that somehow her Angel could turn into a man, that it would be _him_ she could fall in love with and ultimately marry. Oh, how wonderful that would be, to have a husband like him!

Strangely enough, in her daydreams she had never thought what he would look like if he were a man. She had an inkling that it would not matter if he was tall or short, heavy set or slender, blond or dark-haired, with brown or blue or green eyes, that she would love him anyway. If only... if only he came to her and allowed her to love him.

And then, last night... Christine rubbed her eyes to make sure she really saw what she thought she was seeing. For it could not really be, or could it? Her Angel could not really have been there with her in her dressing room, coming to her through the huge mirror, which really was a door, and lead her down through a labyrinth to a subterranean lake and into a fairy-tale like world of wonder, music and candle-light. He could not really have sung to her, his voice so full of tenderness, desire, promises of the future. It could not really be, and yet...

And yet, there she was, in a strange stone chamber, lying in a bed the shape of a huge bird, between sheets of the softest silk, with candles all around, and a music box the likes of which she had never seen, playing a happy melody.

She climbed out of the bed, intent on further exploring her surroundings, for if the part of her being lead into this wonder-world was no dream, then maybe the rest of it was reality as well, maybe... he...

She blushed at the memory of the man who had brought her here. He had been older than her, but then, that had to be expected if he truly was a man and not an angel, for he had to have been an adult already by the time her father had died close to 10 years ago. His voice had not sounded like that of a boy then.

Christine tried to remember more details of him. He was tall and slender, and he had spoken to her with her Angel's voice. She therefore had had no fear, when this complete stranger had offered her his arm and had lead her away from her dressing room. She smiled as she remembered that he had been wearing black leather gloves. Then she blushed as she realized that she only remembered that detail, because she had wondered what it might feel like to touch his un-gloved fingers, to feel skin on skin..

Christine heard an organ playing and followed the sound. An organ, of course! An Angel's preferred musical instrument would be the one used in churches all over the world. There had to be an organ somewhere here in this mystical realm!

She turned another corner and gasped. There he was, right before her eyes, sitting in front of a huge pipe organ, lost in his music. And he... he looked so real! Just the way she remembered him from last night. A man, tall, slender, broad shouldered, engulfed in his music.

"Oh God, please, let that be no dream," she prayed. "Let him be real, and let him return my feelings, even though he is much older than I am and probably thinks of me as a stupid child! Let him allow me to love him..."

Christine silently approached him from behind and put her hand on his left cheek. She felt him lean into her touch, and suddenly her whole body was on fire. She had never expected skin contact with a man to feel like that, so electrifying and exhilarating. She wanted this feeling never to end, to feel his skin under her fingers like that for all eternity.

But suddenly something caught her attention. She was not sure if she felt it first or saw it first. The right side of his face was covered with a … some kind of mask, and now that she saw it, she did remember that he had been wearing such a cover over part of his face the night before as well.

But why? Why did he hide from her like that, if he truly was a man, if he was a mortal being that could return her feelings, that would allow her to love him and therefore had finally decided to reveal himself to her?

Was it maybe too good to be true after all? Was he maybe not truly a man as she began to hope with every fiber of her heart, but a heavenly being posing as a mortal? Was he maybe not able to completely hide his glory under human form, and therefore needed such a contrivance to shield her from his view?

Christine hesitated. If the mask was there for her protection, it might not be wise to remove it. An Angel's glory could probably be blinding if beheld by a human eye. Did she want to risk that? Of course she could simply ask him about the mask, but what if he refused her an answer or came up with an excuse? Then she would never know, and once he had realized her interest, he would be extra careful, she would get no chance to remove it. No, if she wanted to know the truth, if she wanted to find out for herself if he was man or angel, she needed to act now. And fast. Before he became suspicious of her fingers that were slowly approaching the mask.

Christine took a deep breath to summon her courage, and then, in one swift move, ripped the mask off his face.

And then all hell broke lose. She had not expected anybody to be able to move as fast as he did. Within a fraction of a second he had jumped to his feet, turned around, thrown her to the ground, while at the same time covering the right side of his face with one hand.

Christine cowered on the stony ground, horrified by the sudden change of mood in this man – this being in front of her. He was screaming at her, raging like a madman, calling her all sorts of things.

Christine felt paralyzed, and all she could think of was, "now I have ruined it. He will never be able to forgive me for that."

After a while he seemed to calm down. He was not ranting at her any longer, but at himself, referring to himself as a loathsome gargoyle, a repulsive carcass and a beast, and the truth began to dawn on Christine. He was human after all. What he had been hiding under his mask was not a trace of heavenly glory, but some kind of hideous disfigurement. The way he kept facing away from her and covering the right side of his face with his hand made it painfully obvious to her that he did not want her to see that part of him, that he felt deeply ashamed at the thought she might have gotten a glimpse of it. It therefore must be really bad.

Christine's heart opened wide at that realization. It suddenly all made sense, why he had never shown himself to her before, why he had only talked to her from behind walls. He had feared rejection! And if she were honest, she was not sure if she would have trusted a hideously disfigured man at the tender age of seven, after her father's death. He would not have been able to comfort her, had she known the truth about him then. He had lied to her, posing as an angel, for her own good.

But now... now he had deemed her worthy of his trust, now he had finally been ready to tell her the truth about himself, and she had blown it big time. She felt so bad for betraying his trust in her like that. She could not even begin to understand how hurt and humiliated he must be feeling right now, how exposed. She knew she had to make it up to him somehow, to make him understand that his face did not matter to her, that he was still the same person in her heart.

She extended her hand towards him, holding the mask she had ripped from his face out to him like a peace offering. "Forgive me," she whispered.


	2. Can Turn to Love

Ha, double whopper today! The last chapter of my previous story and a new chapter for this one. Thank you to all of you that have already checked out this new story, especially to those who have not only read, but also added to favorites, put on alert, and most of all, to my first reviewers: You Are Love, Filhound, MarilynKC, Leona (guest), pansire, PhantomFan01 and shanyhwll. I am glad you all like the story so far! I hope you will continue to do so and stick with it till it's completed! Your support truly means the world to me!

Now on to the next chapter, and keep in mind, I do not own those charaters... sad, but true!

Chapter 2 – ...Can Turn to Love...

Her Angel – no, Christine corrected herself, the man, the man, who had pretended to be her Angel – gingerly reached for the mask, then turned around so he faced away from her and reattached it to his face. Once he felt properly covered, he turned to her again.

"Come," he rasped, "we must return. They will be looking for you already and wonder where you are."

Christine noticed how he fought to control his feelings, and she also thought she detected a hint of desperation in his voice. Her heart sank. Had she truly ruined everything, the trust they had shared before, their friendship? Could nothing of that be salvaged? Had she hurt him so badly?

"You want me gone," she murmured, feeling miserable. "You cannot forgive me for what I have done. It is all over now." And she felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Do not cry," she heard him whisper. "Please, Christine, do not cry! I am not going to harm you, you must believe me! I see now how wrong it was to bring you here, do not fear, I will make things right again and bring you home. You can forget me then, forget all that happened here, pretend it was only a nightmare..."

Christine looked up at him then and saw such raw pain at the bottom of his eyes that it hurt her almost physically to see him like that. "I am not afraid," she managed to say. "I understand now. It was wrong of me to pull off your mask like that."

When he did not answer, just continued to look at her with those expressive eyes that now seemed to hold all the sadness in the world, she continued. "I am sorry," she pleaded with him. "I do not know what came over me. I behaved like a spoiled brat, with no sense of tact and decency. I should have realized that there was a reason why you were covering your face like that. I should not have invaded your privacy the way I did... Is there really no chance you can forgive me?" She finally screamed. The thought that she might now lose him because of her own stupid actions, was driving her insane.

"You... you do not want to run?" he asked, the incredulity very obvious on his face and in the sound of his voice. "You... you think _I_ must forgive _you_?"

"Of course, Angel," Christine blurted out, then looked down in embarrassment. "I am sure you have a name," she realized. "I should not call you Angel. Would you therefore please tell me how you want me to address you?"

"Erik." The moment the name escaped him, he bit his lips. How could he have said that, revealed such intimate information to her, asked her to address him by his given name, as if... as if...

"Erik!" Christine beamed. "What a beautiful name! I would love to call you Erik from now on!"

"You...," Erik swallowed. He was not sure he had understood her correctly. "You do not want our acquaintance to end?"

"Of course not!" The look of wonder on the visible part of his face was so endearing, it warmed her heart. "Erik, you have been my best friend for years – well, I mean, my Angel has been my best friend, but that has been you all along, has it not?"

Erik nodded. "But that was before...," he mumbled.

"Before I even knew that you are a real person and not an angel!"Christine finished the sentence for him, giving it a sightly different meaning than he had intended. "You did so much for me, you helped me deal with the loss of my father, you taught me to sing, and yesterday,..." She suddenly blushed and looked to the floor as she remembered the song he had sung for her when he had brought her to this place of his, a song about night and feelings, and music and... love. Was it possible that he had feelings for her? Or, more to the point, would she want him to have such feelings?

"That was before you knew about … this!" He pointed to his mask. "Before you knew that it was no angel, but a demon that had infiltrated your thoughts and your mind, corrupting you in every way..."

"You are no demon," Christine whispered. "I understand now, why you might think of you in such a way, why you are hiding part of your face behind that mask. Even though I have not really had a chance to get a glimpse of it..."

She interrupted herself as she saw the pain return to the bottom of his eyes. "You are far too fast for me," she therefore continued lightly, trying to change the mood. "I swear to you, I did not see it, though I guess from your reaction that it is bad and that you have suffered a lot because of it."

He looked away from her in shame and whispered, "my own mother could not bear the view of the monstrosity that passes for my face. Right after I was born, she put a cover on it, before she even dressed me properly."

"How cruel of her!" Christine exclaimed. "She should have loved you even more because of it! How could she do that to you!"

"You were telling the truth, you cannot have seen it," he commented. "Or you would not talk like that! You would run from me screaming, if you had an idea what horrors lie underneath that mask."

Christine shyly reached for his hand. "Look at me," she begged. "Look me in the eyes and see that I am speaking the truth."

Erik was shocked as he felt her little hand reach for his. How could she still want to touch him after all she had learned about him today? But obediently he turned around and looked into her beautiful eyes.

"I cannot guarantee that I would not find your face ugly, hideous or maybe even scary," she said. "For I have no idea what is wrong with it. To judge from your reaction it must be really bad, though, but..."

She smiled at him encouragingly, "but does it change who you are, the kind of person you are? Are you suddenly not the man anymore that comforted me as my dear Papa passed away, that brought music back into my life and taught me to sing? Are you not my friend and teacher any longer, just because I learned that there is something wrong with your face?" She looked away, embarrassed, as she continued, "do you not want me in your life anymore, because I know now that your face is flawed?"

He suddenly was on the floor, at her feet, clutching the hem of her skirts to his masked face. "Oh Christine, ask a drowning man if he wants to be thrown a life-saver, ask the one dying of thirst in the midst of a desert if he wants a bottle of water! I would want nothing more than to have you in my life now and always, but I cannot ask that of you!"

Christine sank down to the floor next to him and laid her hand on his shaking shoulders. "Last night," she began shyly, "when you sang to me, was that because you... you wanted to tell me...?"

She was shaking nervously herself now, waiting for his answer. Would he tell her now what she wanted to hear, that he was in love with her, hoping she would allow him to court her?

"It was a dream," he whispered. "Forgive me for that, I hoped, I thought, but that was preposterous, you would never... never ever..."

"Love you?" Christine asked, encouraged by his obvious discomfort to say the word.

He hung his head. "Forgive me for hoping you might," he whispered.

"Erik," Christine said, relishing the sound of his name. He had not said it directly, but she knew now that he loved her, and that knowledge filled her with joy. "Erik, you must have realized that I have had feelings for my so-called Angel for quite some time, that I was dreaming of him coming to me as a man..."

He nodded. "That's why I thought..." he mumbled. "But everything has changed now..."

"Really?" Christine asked him pointedly. "I will admit that things are slightly different now. For one thing, I have behaved towards you like a spoiled brat and treated you badly. I could not blame you if you had lost all trust in me. Of course, things have changed for me as well, for now I know that my Angel is really a man, and one with quite a temper," she added with a smile. "I have learned you have to hide your face to the public, which is a somewhat unexpected detail, but other than that, have things really changed? Are we not the same as before, are we not friends any longer?"

Erik sighed. "You are not offended that I hoped … that I ...love...?"

Christine shook her head. "Why would I? Were you offended when you realized that I wanted my Angel to be a man?"

"That is different," Erik objected. "You truly _are_ an angel, every man would be flattered if you had feelings for him, but I..."

"You, Monsieur, are a very kind and warm-hearted person," Christine reminded him, "and the best music teacher I could have wanted!"

"A teacher," Erik's voice sounded bitter. "That's all I am."

"Erik," Christine cooed at him. "Give me time. Give us both time. After all, we have only just met. Yes, I know, we have known each other for years, but then, I know all about my Angel, but I know next to nothing about Erik, the man. And you... you have only met me in the capacity of a student, a protégée, so far. Who knows if you will like Christine, the woman?"

Erik looked at her questioningly. "What are you trying to tell me?" he asked, confused.

"That we need to spend more time together," Christine boldly suggested, "not as Angel or teacher and student, but as a man and a woman. That we need to know each other better in order to determine if what we are hoping for... I mean, if it is possible!"

"You would … would give me a second chance to woo you?" Erik asked, "even though you know about my predicament, about my inability to lead a normal life, to have a normal profession, after you have seen my temper?"

Christine gave him a confused look. "Why on earth are you saying that? And what about your profession, are you not a music teacher?"

Erik shook his head. "No, no," he wailed. "There is one more terrible secret I have to reveal to you! I do not have a profession, that is, I could excel in various areas, but because of my face nobody would hire me!"

"But you must earn your living somehow," Christine commented, looking at the clothes he was wearing that were of the highest quality.

"I am... the... Opera Ghost," Erik confessed.

Christine's eyes widened. "The... you are what?" she asked.

"I am the one known as the Opera Ghost," Erik repeated contritely. "I am the one writing all those notes telling Lefevre, and now those two new clowns how they should run the theater..."

"You!" Christine exclaimed. "You are the genius that has saved the theater from going bankrupt a few times already? Mme. Giry always says that without those notes the company would be lost!"

Erik nodded. "And I am also the one, who plays pranks on everybody to make sure my demands are being met," he confessed. "I even dropped that piece of scenery on Carlotta yesterday..."

"You did what...?" she asked. "Erik, you could have killed her!"

He shook his head. "She was in no danger," he assured Christine. "I had planned the trajectory carefully so as not to harm her. I only wanted to scare her.."

"So that I could sing," Christine whispered, as understanding dawned on her.

"Yes," Erik admitted.

"Oh Erik," Christine was shocked and moved by that confession at the same time. "Even though you assure me she was in no danger, you must promise me that you won't do anything of the sort again. Not even for me. Least of all for me. How do I know now if I would ever have been considered good enough to sing if you had not done that?"

A faint smile, which Christine found very endearing, briefly played across Erik's mouth. "Was the audience's reaction not proof enough for you of your worth as a singer?" he asked.

"Still," Christine insisted. "Promise me now that you won't do anything like that again. Advise the managers as you have done so far, and ask for a decent salary in return, but do not do anything that could potentially harm another person. Promise me, Erik, will you?"

He looked at her. This seemed so important to her, and the way she gazed into his eyes and pronounced his name... He was putty in her hands. "I promise you that, Christine," he assured her.

Christine smiled. "Thank you," she said. "Unless there are some other dark secrets you want to reveal to me, I think you were right, when you said earlier that people will wonder where I am. Maybe you should bring me back to my dressing room now."

As she noticed his face falling at those words, she quickly added, "only for now, Erik. I do want to see you again soon, and I look forward to getting to know you better, not just as my teacher."

When he heard her talk like that, Erik's mood improved. "You are right," he admitted, "I should bring you back. In fact, I am surprised that Antoinette has not come looking for you yet!"

"Antoinette?" Christine inquired, "As in... Mme. Giry? Does she... does she know you?"

"Of course," Erik chuckled. "She knows it is me that has been teaching you, and she knows about me living here and my role as the Opera Ghost. In fact it was her who brought me here into this sanctuary."

"How?" Christine asked.

Erik shook his head. "That is a long story," he said, "I will tell you another time. Or maybe, you ask her about it," he added. "I am afraid, we really should get going now," he reminded her then. "It takes a while to get up to the Opéra..."

Christine nodded. "Just one more question," she begged. "Would you tell me your last name as well?"

"Givenould," Erik replied. "My full name is Erik Charles Givenould."

Xxxx

Erik brought Christine back to her dressing room. They quickly said good-bye and he promised to meet her there in the evening for a voice lesson and some more private conversation.

"You will wait for me here?" Erik asked for the umpteenth time.

"Of course, Erik," Christine promised. "At five, before the performance, I will be here. I am looking forward to it!"

When he had finally left her and closed the mirror behind himself, Christine quickly slipped out of the dressing room and made her way to the dormitories. Of course the other girls were all up by now and had probably noticed that she had not been back all night. "I will have to say I fell asleep in my dressing room after the performance, since I was so exhausted," she thought. It did not seem too plausible, but it was the best Explanation she could think of.

Christine had not quite reached her destination, when she ran into Mme. Giry. "Christine, thank God, you are back," the ballet mistress exclaimed. "The managers have been asking for you repeatedly already. I told them you were still sleeping after last night's triumph, but..."

"The managers?" Christine frowned. What could they possibly want from her? "Did they say why they want to see me?"

Mme. Giry shook her head. "No, though I have a feeling it might have something to do with the new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny..."

"Raoul?" Christine asked. "He came to my dressing room yesterday and wanted to drag me to supper, but even though I was kind of thrilled to see him again after all those years, I did not want to go out with him. So much time has passed, and we do not really know each other anymore." She did not want to say how the way he had stared at her cleavage had made her uncomfortable.

"Well," Mme. Giry told her, "I met him again later last night, he was banging at your dressing room door, which was locked, asking you to let him in. When I asked him to calm down he said something about fearing that somebody was in there with you, taking advantage of you, since he had heard a man's voice coming from your dressing room. I said you were with your teacher." She looked Christine into the eyes. "That was the truth, was it not? You were having a voice lesson?"

Christine blushed. "Not quite," she admitted, "though it _was_ my … it was Erik."

"Erik?" Mme. Giry frowned. "So he has finally told you who he is?"

Christine nodded. "Yes," she said, "and I am glad he did. We did get off to a rough start, but there is a chance now."

Mme. Giry gave her a sharp look. "You are not frightened?" she asked.

"No," Christine replied. "Just … excited, that my Angel is not an angel after all, and he.. he is … so..."

Mme. Giry smiled. "I am glad you still consider him your friend, now that you know," she said wryly. "He is at heart a good person and has suffered enough rejection because of his face."

"Is it really so bad?" Christine asked. "I mean, have you seen it?"

Mme. Giry nodded. "Yes, my child, it is very bad, but it is not his fault."

"I know," Christine agreed, "and I have told him so."

Mme. Giry eyed her quizzically. Why did she have the feeling that the girl was not telling her everything? There was no time for such speculations, though, for the managers had made it clear they needed to see Christine as soon as possible.

"You need to get changed quickly," Mme. Giry therefore reminded her foster daughter. "Messieurs Firmin and André should not be kept waiting for you any longer than absolutely necessary."

Xxxx

Twenty minutes later Christine stood in the managers' office. "You wanted to see me?" she asked politely.

"Ah yes, Mademoiselle Daaé," Firmin said, looking up from his paperwork and staring her up and down as if he was trying to imagine what exactly it was the Vicomte saw in that brawny slip of a woman. "It has been brought to our attention that you refused an invitation by our honored patron last night, is that correct, Mademoiselle?"

Christine looked down. Apparently Raoul had complained about her. "Raoul... I mean the Vicomte de Chagny, graciously offered to take me to supper last night," she admitted, "but I was too exhausted after my first performance, and I had an appointment with my voice coach, so I had to decline," she finally managed to say.

"This is not, I repeat, _not_ going to happen again," Firmin informed her. "The Vicomte supports our theater with his money, we have to thank him for his generosity. If he again asks for your time, you will therefore graciously accept his invitation and be at his disposition. You will do _everything_ in your power to make him happy and to keep him that way, is that clear? _Everything_."

"Everything?" Christine asked, not quite sure she understood what was asked of her. "What do you mean,everything?"

"Just what I said," Firmin replied with a lecherous grin. "Do whatever he asks of you."


	3. Like yellow parchment is his skin

Hi everybody,

I am sorry I could not update last weekend and this chapter is therefore late. I hope you will still like it. I am also not quite sure if the next chapter will be posted Saturday or Sunday, we'll see. The only thing I can promise is that the story will be updated eventually.

Anyway, thank you all for reading, for adding to favorites, for putting on alert and most of all, for reviewing this story! I hope you will continue to enjoy it, and I hope you know that it is because of you all that I keep coming up with new ideas for stories about our two star-crossed lovers. Just keep in mind that I do not own those characters...

Chapter 3 – Like yellow parchment is his skin

"What do I do now?" Christine sobbed into Mme. Giry's blouse. She had somehow managed to give a polite reply to Monsieur Firmin and to excuse herself, but once the door to the managers' office had closed behind her, she had run directly to the ballet mistress' room and thrown herself into the older woman's arms.

"They cannot actually mean what I think they said," Christine continued. "I mean they cannot actually tell me to.. to.. "

"They should not," Mme. Giry agreed, "but I suspect it would not be the first time that men have asked a woman to prostitute herself for financial gain..."

"I will not do... that!" Christine exclaimed, horrified. "You are not trying to tell me that I have no choice, or are you?"

"Sh, calm down, Christine," Mme. Giry cooed. "I did not say you should lose your honor like that for professional gain. In fact, I am telling you in no uncertain terms that I forbid you to do anything of that sort. What I was saying is that the managers may think it is their right to ask that of you, but it isn't. They cannot ask you to do anything other than accept an invitation to dinner."

As she saw the shocked expression on Christine's lovely face, she added, "not alone, though, you must be properly chaperoned." She pulled Christine into a tight hug. "I will make sure that you won't be alone with him at any time. The moment the performance ends, I'll be with you in your dressing room, and if he asks you out, I will insist to come along as your chaperone. The sooner that spoiled brat of a Vicomte understands that you are an honorable woman that won't allow him to debase her, the better."

"But what if...," Christine whispered, "what if then he decides he wants to marry me?"

"Then there will still be time to decide whether or not you want to accept his proposal," Mme. Giry commented.

"I... I do not want to marry him!" Christine blurted out.

Mme. Giry closed her eyes. How could Christine be so sure? Had she been right earlier, when she thought that Christine might have developed strong feelings for Erik? She wanted to see clear.

"How can you say that now?" she therefore asked innocently. "You do not really know the Vicomte. It has been years since you last saw him. Maybe if you spend more time with him, you will find him quite likeable. He is rather handsome, after all, and he has a position in society, wealth and influence..."

"No!" Christine was adamant. "I do not want him! I will never want him!" She sighed. Deep down she knew that it was because of Erik. A while ago she had still wondered if the fact that he was disfigured and therefore had to lead a very secluded life combined with his rather violent temper would somehow change her feelings for him, but now she was almost certain that nothing ever would. That her heart belonged to her Angel for all eternity, now more so than ever, since now there actually was a chance for a future together.

Mme. Giry smiled. Christine's reaction was proof enough that the girl's heart was already taken, and there was no doubt who the lucky man was that Christine had chosen. She had suspected for quite some time, that the masked man had fallen in love with his student, and apparently Christine returned those feelings. In a way, Mme. Giry was happy about that development, but on the other hand, she could not help feeling a bit uneasy. What kind of life could Erik offer her young protégée? Could she allow Erik to drag Christine into his underground world? Also, if she chose Erik, Christine could never admit to being married, for her husband would never be able to join her at any official function. So what if Christine got pregnant? Wouldn't she be considered a fallen woman in that case? And how would living underground affect a child? Mme. Giry decided she had to talk to Erik about this. If he was seriously considering to woo Christine, a few things definitely had to change.

"If you don't want to marry the Vicomte, then you won't have to," she hurried to tell Christine. "Now go and wash your face, ballet practice begins in half an hour. You may be excused from it, since you are the prima donna now, but I guess it is better you attend it. First, the exercise will take your mind off such unpleasant thoughts, and second, you won't be alone, in case you-know-who decides to pay the Opéra Populaire another visit."

Christine nodded and quickly left to get ready for ballet.

Xxxx

Raoul was aimlessly wandering around backstage in the hope of running into the object of his desire and making another pass on her. He had tried her dressing room first, but had found it empty. She must therefore be somewhere else. Did she have to attend a rehearsal today maybe, or was she at the dormitory? The managers had told him that Mademoiselle Daaé lived at the Opéra, she therefore couldn't be too far away. She had to be around here _somewhere_ and he was determined to find her.

Unfortunately, he was still new here and did not know the backstage area too well. He had seen the dressing rooms, since those were close to the stage, and he could find his way to the managers' office. As to all the other rooms... he was at a complete loss.

He had already run into a tailor's shop where costumes were being touched up, a large hall where carpenters were working on new sets, a few rooms with pianos, where singers prepared for new roles, but after half an hour of walking around he still had not found the dormitories.

He was getting tired. As a Vicomte he was not used to walking all that much, and he was not used to having as little success in his endeavors as he was currently having. Therefore he was only too glad when the smell of fresh coffee lead him to the kitchen and dining area. It could not hurt to sit down for a while, have some coffee, and maybe ask for directions, though he had to be discreet. He somehow had a feeling that a kitchen maid might find it somewhat strange if the new patron directly asked for the diva's room.

He therefore just got himself a coffee and sat down at a table in the corner, thinking about how he could get the information he needed. After a while a large group sat down at another table near him. Raoul counted about five young women, obviously cleaning ladies, who had started work early, making sure that the areas open to the audience, such as the auditorium and huge entrance hall, would be all clean and shining again after last night's celebration. Now these ladies were obviously on a break and each of them was carrying a tray full of food. A rather square, medium aged man was with them and he apparently was telling a story to the giggling women.

"Like yellow parchment is his skin," the man intoned, "a great black hole serves as the nose that never grew ..."

"Eeh!" The women screamed excitedly. "How can you know, Joseph?"

"Because I saw him once," the man explained, dead-serious. "He had been up in the rafters, it was dark, and at first I did not see anything, I just had a feeling as if I were being watched. But then, I saw something glow, like two candle flames, and I knew it was his eyes. At first I thought it was a colleague, up there to do some maintenance, and I asked who was there, when I suddenly heard a diabolical laughter coming from all around. That's when I was sure it was the ghost himself. Though, of course it is no ghost. There are no such things as ghosts. He is a real person, and he obviously dresses all in black, which is why I could not see him clearly in the dark. Those eyes, though, they really burn."

"And how can you know about the color of his skin and the lack of a nose, then?" one of the girls asked. "I mean, if you did not get a good look at him, as you just said?"

The man grew serious. "I just know. Just like I know it is a man," he stated. "And I know that Mme. Giry is his accomplice. Not just, because it is more often than not her who happens to 'find' his notes, but also, because she has given me some veiled warning. I am fairly certain that she was trying to tell me to stay off his tracks. Which means, I will just have to be that much more careful in my endeavors to spy upon him and to find out where his hiding place is. But trust me, nothing in this building escapes Joseph Buquet. Sooner or later, I will flush the ghost out, and then our lives will be much easier."

"But didn't Monsieur Lefevre always say that the ghost has given him some really good advice?" another girl asked shyly. "I guess he did not really mind paying the ghost's salary?"

"He was reluctant enough," Joseph Buquet retorted. "As helpful as some of the ghost's requests might have been, it cannot have been fun not to be able to make your own decisions in your own theater, which is probably why Monsieur Lefevre decided to retire."

Raoul's head spun. Those were indeed important news. Neither Firmin nor André had mentioned the existence of this ghost to him. Apparently somebody had been telling their predecessor how to run the Opéra. Was he still doing the same? Was somebody other than him, the patron, telling those two wanna-be managers what to do? And was that person asking for money in return? It did not seem as if he was a paid advisor, in which case the whole business was probably highly illegal. Raoul had finished his coffee by now, but decided to stay a bit longer and try to learn more about this ghost.

"And if I had not been sure already that Mme. Giry is in league with him, I would certainly be now," Buquet continued. "Or do you think it was a coincidence that that backdrop almost hit Carlotta yesterday? No, no, he intended to scare her away, so that the Daaé-girl could sing the main part. She is Mme. Giry's protégée, remember? I bet he is protecting and promoting her. Her and the little Giry, that dancer. I have heard stories about men trying to … you know, … get to know these two girls a bit …. and being scared off by the ghost."

He did not say that one day he himself had approached Meg Giry in a dark corridor and tried to reach underneath her tutu, when suddenly something heavy had hit him on the temple and he had passed out, thus saving Meg.

Raoul grinned. He absolutely had to talk to this man and learn more about that ghost and the man's theories about the ghost's connections. He was now almost certain that the old hag that had practically told him to get lost in front of Christine's dressing room door last night had been this Mme. Giry. He vaguely remembered having heard that name when Firmin and André had introduced their staff to him. But if Mme. Giry and her protégée Christine were in contact with this mysterious ghost, and if the latter tried to promote Christine by throwing pieces of scenery at the resident prima donna, if he had even scared off men that had tried to … do whatever with her and Giry's daughter, and if he knew enough about running a theater that his so-called requests were deemed sound advice, if all this were true, was it then so inconceivable, that he had been the man in Christine's dressing room the previous night?

Raoul almost had no doubts anymore. It all fit. The ghost was obviously promoting Christine's career and in return she was selling her body to him. He might be doing the same with Mme. Giry's daughter, and the mother seemed to aprove. Raoul snickered. In that case, the old hag could easily become his ally. Surely if she sold the girls to the ghost in order to further their careers, she would have no qualms of doing the same for him, the patron that actually could give them the starring parts.

Xxxx

Slightly before five o'clock Christine quietly slipped into her dressing room and locked the door behind her. She felt nervous and giddy at the same time. She would see Erik again! Oh, how she was looking forward to seeing him! Even though she had known him for close to ten years, seeing him was still so new to her, that the prospect of actually seeing him again – as opposed to only hearing his voice – excited her.

True, it was a bit disconcerting to think that the right side of his face was disfigured, and according to Mme. Giry rather heavily so, but did it really make a difference? Christine did not think so. But then, she had not really seen it. She had been too shocked by his raging outburst to pay any attention to his face. For the moment she would have to let it be. She needed to regain Erik's trust first.

But,... She blushed. Should things proceed as she hoped and should he one day ask her to marry him, she would have to ask him to show his face to her. He could not always wear the mask. That could not be healthy for his skin anyway. He would have to take it off every now and then, probably for hours, in order to let his skin breath. Therefore Christine would need to know what his face looked like, should they decide to get married. Maybe it was a good idea to ask Mme. Giry for details of his disfigurement, in order to be prepared for the day she would ask him to remove his mask and let her see the real him.

Christine's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the moving mirror, and as she turned around, the man she had been thinking about, was standing right before her. He was dressed in black like the previous night, and wearing a long, black cloak. The white half-mask still covered the right side of his face and in Christine's opinion, it gave him quite a distinguished look.

His eyes looked at her in wonder. "You came," he whispered. His beautiful voice sounded overwhelmed and relieved.

Christine smiled. How glad she was to see him! Though he apparently still had had doubts that she wanted to see him again. His insecurity was so endearing! How could he, the warm-hearted, intelligent, knowledgeable Erik doubt that Christine wanted to see him, to continue her friendship with him!

"I promised I would be here," she said, blushing. "And I am glad we can finally meet like that, and really get to know each other."

She turned an even darker shade of red. Had she said too much? Had she shown her joy at actually being face to face with him again too openly? Would he now consider her a wanton woman?

Erik drank in her appearance. How lovely she was! She was wearing a dress that he had always liked on her, since it accentuated her body in all the right places, while the bluish-green color of the dress made her brown eyes shine even more.

"You look stunning," he finally managed to say.

Christine was feeling hot, her cheeks burning. She had gone to great lengths to make herself as pretty as possible, in order to please him, and obviously her efforts had paid off.

"I... I thought this is a special occasion," she mumbled. "The first time we actually have an appointment. I wanted to celebrate this by dressing up a bit..."

Erik's eyes widened. "You... you wanted to look at your best... for me? The hot-tempered beast?"

His insecurity returned Christine's confidence. "You are no beast, Erik,"she told him. "And I do not want to hear you referring to yourself in such a way ever again. You are the man that has been my Angel of Music for so many years, my very best and dearest friend, well, maybe except for Meg Giry, but that is different, Meg is practically my sister. And..."

She looked down, unsure again if she had said too much, if he might think now that she was throwing herself at him. Why was this so hard? Why could she not talk to him the way she had always done? Why was she now constantly thinking what it might be like if he took her into his arms and kissed her?

"Maybe... we should start with our lesson now?" she nervously suggested.

Erik nodded. Music was safe ground. That's what he understood, whereas this courtship business... He felt like a fish out of water. He had no clue what was expected of him in such a situation. Of course, his senses screamed to him to just take Christine into his arms and kiss her senseless and then ask her if she would do him the honor of accepting his marriage proposal. But that would be too fast, would it not?

"A lesson... yes... I suppose … that is a good idea," he stammered. "Maybe we shall begin with discussing your performance last night?"

He suddenly was a different person. Now that he could focus on music, he once again was the knowledgeable teacher, who could give Christine a few hints as to how improve her singing even more. The two of them were so engulfed in their music, that they did not realize how long they had been working together, when they heard the key in the lock turn.

"I do not want to interrupt you two," Mme. Giry smiled at them, locking the door behind her again with her spare key. "But it is time for Christine to get changed for tonight's performance."

She was deeply moved as she observed the looks her two protégés exchanged. It was obvious that they both were deeply in love, but had not quite found the courage to tell each other so. She clearly would have to talk to Erik about this, and soon.

"I will have to take my leave then, Christine, Antoinette," Erik said. "You will excel tonight, Christine, even more so than last night, since now you know that you can do it, and you won't be as nervous anymore!"

They looked deep into each other's eyes. "Will you come to me again tonight, after the performance?" Christine asked huskily, wishing he would lower his lips to hers and kiss her good-bye.

Mme. Giry cleared her throat. "I do not think that would be wise," she interrupted. "The Vicomte will certainly stop by again and try to invite you to dinner, Christine."

"The Vicomte?" Erik asked, anger rising within him. "The new patron?"

As nervous as Christine was about having to see Raoul again and go out for dinner with him, she sensed Erik's anger and knew she had to calm him. "It is quite harmless," she therefore explained to him. "Raoul is a childhood friend of mine. Of course he wants to renew our friendship. But of course it is not proper for me to go with him all on my own, so Mme. Giry has offered to accompany and chaperon me." She smiled at him. "I will be perfectly save," she added, trying to make him understand that he was the only man she was interested in.

"Promise that this is only a harmless friendship," Erik groaned. "The Vicomte has a certain reputation..."

Christine reached for Erik's hand and squeezed it. "I promise you that I am not interested in him in that way," she said, looking at Erik with love.


	4. Now we'll go to supper

Sorry for the delay! But at least the new chapter is there...

The bad news is, there won't be an update next week, and the week thereafter it might be delayed again. Sorry!

But thank you all for reading, for adding to favorites, putting on alert and, most of all, for reviewing! You guys rock! I know Raoul is despicable this time around, and I am afraid he isn't going away anytime soon...

And please Keep in mind that I don't own These characters!

Chapter 4 – Now we'll go to supper

As Erik had predicted, Christine's second performance as Elyssa went even better than her first one and the audience celebrated her success with standing ovations. Exhausted, but happy about her triumph, Christine finally returned to her dressing room, where Mme. Giry was already waiting for her. The ballet mistress had somehow found time to return the lovely dress Christine had worn earlier to the dormitory and bring a much simpler dress for her to wear on the expected outing with the Vicomte. They would not want to give him the impression that Christine was dressing up for _him_ , oh no!

When Christine noticed the plain outfit she smiled and hugged the ballet mistress. "That was very considerate of you," she murmured.

Mme. Giry pointed towards the vanity. "There is something else for you," she said meaningfully.

Christine turned around and found the most perfect dark-red rose lying there, a black satin ribbon tied around its long stem. She blushed. "From Erik?" she asked.

Mme. Giry nodded. "He was here just a moment ago, while you were still taking your bows. He said you have exceeded his wildest expectations today, and you made the angels weep."

Christine smiled. Erik was not too easy to please. More often than not he had driven her almost insane with his demands of perfection, so coming from him, this was rare praise, indeed. But it was not just the message he had conveyed to her through Mme. Giry. There was the rose, too...

Christine picked it up and held it close to her face so she could inhale the sweet and slightly heavy scent of the beautiful flower. She loved roses, which had been her dear papa's favorite flowers. The whole summer she therefore always made sure that there were fresh roses on his grave. Of course Erik knew that and had obviously chosen a rose to please her.

But... it was not just any rose. It was a red rose. And were not red roses supposed to be symbols of love? Could it be that Erik had wanted to give her yet another message by bringing her this particular flower? Could it be...?

"If only," Christine thought. "If only he felt for me the same way I do for him. But I am such a stupid, immature child, is it possible that he.. ?"

Mme. Giry interrupted her thoughts. "Quick, Christine," she said, "you must get changed. There is already a crowd of admirers forming in front of the door. You will have to meet with them shortly and exchange a few words with every single one of them."

Christine paled. "Raoul?" she asked. "Do you think he is out there as well?"

Mme. Giry shrugged. "Probably. But do not fret. I am here with you, and if he asks you out again, I will go with you. You will be fine."

Christine nodded, not too convinced of the elder woman's words. But she knew that Mme. Giry was right and that there was no point in delaying the inevitable. She therefore quickly changed and removed the stage makeup from her face.

"I am ready," she then announced. "Let the visitors in!"

Mme. Giry went outside and announced that Mademoiselle Daaé would now be pleased to meet her admirers, but that, since there were so many of them, she would only be able to exchange a few words with each of them. Then she let them in, one by one. Christine greeted them all friendly, accepted flowers and chocolates, thanked everybody for coming to the performance and then turned to greet the next one.

After a while, she noticed Raoul standing in the corner of her dressing room, staring at her. She was not quite sure, how he had been able to enter, but guessed that as the patron he could take a few liberties. Mme. Giry had probably let him pass, since Christine was not alone with him anyway, and it might be a good idea not to make him angry right away by making him wait till Christine had dealt with her other admirers.

When the last one left, Mme. Giry was at Christine's side at once. "Are you tired, Christine?" she asked. "I know this was a rather large crowd..."

"Madame, if you please," Raoul interrupted her. "I do not advise that you try to come up with yet another excuse for Christine to decline my invitation to dinner yet again. Today I will not accept a no. Christine, we have not seen each other in years and we have a lot to catch up, get reacquainted..."

He stared at the plain dress she was wearing, and which had a very modest neckline. No chance for him to feast his eyes on her lovely, firm little breasts!

"Do you have no other dress?" he asked. "Something a little bit more elegant? You look like a nun!"

"You must understand, Monsieur," Mme. Giry chimed in, "that Christine is an orphan. Until last night she has only been in the chorus, and thus has not been paid much. So far she has not been in the position to afford extravagant robes."

Raoul harrumphed. He was not happy, but he had to accept this explanation. "Once she'll be my mistress," he thought, "she'll wear the most enticing, revealing dresses. Every man in Paris will envy me with her on my arm."

He turned back to Christine, smiling at her. He had just remembered that he had to play the part of the good friend and childhood sweetheart. "How stupid and inconsiderate of me," he said contritely. "Of course I know that your family has never had much money, and of course, as a chorus girl you have to make ends meet and cannot spend large sums on your wardrobe. Will you please be so kind and forgive me, Christine?"

Christine forced herself to smile as well. "You are forgiven, Raoul," she said politely.

"And now you will allow me to take you to dinner, so that we can talk about old times and everything that has happened in our lives since we last saw each other?" Raoul begged.

"Of course, Monsieur le Vicomte," Mme. Giry replied, giving him an overly sweet smile. "It is only understandable that you and Christine would want to reconnect a bit."

Raoul grinned. The old hag seemed to approve of his plan. Apparently it did not matter to her, who the girl was sleeping with, be it patron or ghost, as long as this meant Christine's career would continue to flourish.

At her next words, his face fell, though, and it took some effort for him to smile.

"Of course, since Christine is such a good and old friend of yours," Mme. Giry continued, "you certainly value her reputation. Now, you are probably aware of the fact that Christine is the up and coming star of the Opéra Populaire, and you are the patron. Not everybody here in Paris knows that the two of you are old friends. If you were seen together, people might therefore jump to the wrong conclusion, as in, the former chorus girl is trying to charm the patron, in order to get a starring part in the next production as well. I am sure, you would not want that to happen, Monsieur. As her friend, you will do your best to make sure, Christine's reputation remains intact."

Raoul was unsure what to say. He could not well tell that old witch that he did not care in the least about Christine's reputation, that there would not be much of a reputation left anyway, once she'd be his official mistress. But he did not really feel like agreeing with her. Surely she was not going to tell him that he could not take Christine out?

He therefore just gave an unintelligible grunt that could be interpreted any way, and Mme. Giry smiled at him approvingly. "I knew, you would share my opinion in this delicate matter," she purred at Raoul. "I am glad you care so much about Christine!"

She then turned to her surrogate daughter. "But since I am sure you want a chance to talk to the Vicomte and renew your friendship, I suggest you take me along as chaperone. I promise, I will not be in your way, you can talk about anything you want, but if you are properly chaperoned, my dear, nobody will think poorly of you for having dinner with the Vicomte."

Christine had troubles stifling a laughter at Mme. Giry's comedy. The woman was good! Maybe she should have become an actress rather than a dancer.

"Oh, would you do that for us, Mme. Giry?" Christine played along. "That would be so kind of you!"

She smiled innocently at Raoul, who looked as if he had bitten into a lemon. "Don't you agree, Raoul? That is the perfect solution for our problem."

"Uh... I guess...," Raoul mumbled. These blasted women! He had hoped to spend some time alone with Christine and to test the waters, to see how far she was willing to go with him, the patron. Since he was rather sure now that she was whoring herself out to this ghost he had learned about earlier today, she might only be too willing to exchange one lover for another. As the patron, his influence on casting decisions was even greater than the ghost's, and if it was true, what this Buquet-person had said, that the ghost was ugly as hell, did not even have a nose, … Raoul was certain that it would not be hard to make her turn away from her current lover. If he were a woman, he knew who he'd chose!

But that old wench had talked him into a corner. After her long speech about how important it was to preserve Christine's reputation (which in his opinion also confirmed that there was not much left to preserve), and how he, as Christine's old friend, would want to keep her as safe as possible, he could not well insist on inviting just Christine to dinner. It would be showing his true intentions too clearly. He once again remembered, that he was supposed to be the good, old friend.

"Of course, Madame," he therefore hurried to reassure Mme. Giry. "It would be a pleasure for us, if you could accompany us and have dinner with us."

He offered his arm to Christine. "Shall we go, then, Christine?" he asked.

Christine nodded, and the three of them left the Opéra.

Behind the mirror, Erik cringed. He had overheard the whole conversation. "Old friend!" he hissed. "Indeed. You wolf in sheep's clothing! You want only one thing, and that is Christine's body. I won't let that happen, though. I know that she is too perfect for me, too innocent, that I do not deserve her, but that does not mean that I will allow a pig like you to dishonor and debase her, to use her like an object!"

Xxxx

The dinner went quite well, at least for a while, if one did not pay too close attention to the Vicomte's wandering eyes that seemed to be almost fixated on Christine's rather well-covered breasts. Christine felt a bit uncomfortable under his stares, but tried her best to be as polite and friendly as the managers would want her to be, so as not to alienate the rich patron. The whole time, she wished she were sitting with Erik and talking with him, and she wondered what he was doing right now. He probably was sitting in his subterranean home, maybe having a lonely meal. Or was he maybe playing his organ again, like he had done the previous morning, just before she had ripped off his mask? Was he maybe thinking of her?

"Christine, I have heard that Carlotta has returned and will sing the remaining performances of this production," Raoul said at one point. "Would you like me to talk to the managers about it? It would be easy for me to make sure you could keep at least half of these performances," he added, smiling at her seductively. It could not hurt to make Christine understand how much power he held in the theater now, at least as much as this so-called "ghost".

"Oh no, Raoul, please don't!" Christine exclaimed to his horror. "I do not want anybody to interfere with my career. I want to _earn_ what I am given, so that I can be sure I deserve the position I get. I really would not want you to speak with them on my behalf and get me preferred treatment, just because we are old friends. In fact," she continued, without thinking, "I have told Erik the same."

"Erik?" Raoul asked, curious. "And who might that be?"

Christine bit her lip. She wished she had not mentioned Erik. It had been stupid to bring him up, especially, since she now had no doubts anymore that Raoul was interested in her in ways she did not like. He would most likely consider Erik a rival, a threat, and the last thing she wanted to do was to cause Erik trouble.

"My... my teacher," she therefore mumbled.

"Your teacher?" Raoul asked. This was getting interesting. A teacher, a voice coach, did not have much influence in a theater, unless, of course...

Christine nodded. "Yes, my teacher," she confirmed.

"You told him, too, that you did not want him to promote you?" Raoul continued his inquiry. "Why? How would your teacher be able to promote you, even if he wanted to?"

Christine closed her eyes. This was not going well. How could she explain to Raoul that Erik did, indeed, have some influence at the Opéra Populaire, maybe even more so than the pompous Vicomte himself, that it had been Erik, who had made sure she could sing the part of Elyssa, by chasing away Carlotta.

"He... he is quite a knowledgeable musician," she stammered. "His opinion might carry some weight, if he talked to the managers."

"Is that so?" Raoul smiled at her coldly. He was now almost certain that her so-called teacher and the ghost were one and the same person. "If he is such a respected musician, that the managers might listen to him, surely I have heard his name before?" he asked innocently. "What did you say again, his last name was?"

Christine winced. She had no intention of telling Raoul Erik's last name, but she could not very well tell him, she did not know her teacher's name, or could she? What if she lied? She could just give Raoul the next-best name she could think of... only, she was way too nervous to come up with a plausible sounding last name. Dupont or a similarly common name certainly would not do, and the only other names she could think of right now were Swedish ones, like Johanson or Lundgren.

"Givenould," she finally whispered. "Erik's last name is Givenould."

"Never heard of him," Raoul spat at her, convinced she had come up with a false name. "He cannot be so influential, then!"

Christine shrugged. "Maybe not," she agreed.

"So, was it this Erik that was with you in your dressing room last night, when I returned to take you to dinner?" Raoul asked. "For I heard a man's voice from inside, and the door was locked. Apparently there was no concern about your virtue and reputation, then!"

Christine squirmed. How could she explain that to Raoul, whose hand had by then landed on her thigh. She quickly jumped to her feet, in order to shake off his hand. "I... I need to go to the powder room," she announced and quickly took off.

Raoul looked at Mme. Giry. "Are you still concerned about her reputation?" he asked snidely. "She obviously had a tryst with that man last night, and in return he promised her to talk to the managers on her behalf. If she is wise, she will reconsider. I can do much more for her than a little-known musician. And I could be more discreet than him, too. Everybody passing by her locked room could have overheard her talking to a man. I would make sure that such … shall we say... incidents …. would be handled in a much more tactful manner, do you understand?"

Mme. Giry's eyes threw daggers at him. "Monsieur le Vicomte," she said, stressing every single word. "Christine is an honorable girl. I am glad, she did not overhear what you just said to me. Her teacher, too, is of irreproachable conduct. I will admit that it was a mistake that they locked the door during one of their lessons. I will have to talk to both of them and make sure they will not do so again, for you are right, such behavior could cause some suspicion as to Christine's virtue or lack thereof. But I can assure you that nothing untoward has happened between these two."

Raoul shook his head. He did not know what to say. Was this woman really so naive that she did not get it what was going on between Christine and her "teacher"? There was no doubt anymore, that he was the ghost, for Mme. Giry, the ghost's supposed accomplice, had just admitted that she knew that so-called teacher. And the ghost would have _some_ influence on the managers' decisions. It really all fit. Or was she just playing him, trying to tell him that Christine was still pure, in order to get a higher price for the girl, once he would make her his mistress?

"So, you are telling me, Madame, that Christine is a paragon of virtue, and that I should respect that?" he finally asked.

"That is exactly what I am telling you, Monsieur le Vicomte," Mme. Giry replied evenly. "Christine is like a daughter to me, and I will not allow _any_ man, and I mean _any_ man, be he a Vicomte or a beggar, to approach her with anything but the most honorable intentions. Is that understood?"

Raoul sighed. Marriage! These women expected him to marry Christine! They were indeed aiming high. He had hoped he could get away with putting her up in a comfortable villa, with servants and carriages and every luxury she could possibly desire, but apparently, little Christine wanted to get married. He sighed. His family expected his future bride to be of noble blood, they would not be too pleased by the idea of him marrying a singer. Especially if they knew about her past with this ghost, or Erik, or whatever. But then, he did not have to tell them _that,_ and Christine was so desirable, that the thought of marrying her did have some appeal.

"Yes," he therefore replied. And when a rather shaken Christine returned a few minutes later, he was like a different man. He looked her into the eyes instead of staring at her breasts, he apologized for his previous behavior ("for a moment I forgot that we are not children any longer"), he tried to be as charming as possible. And he did not bring up Erik again.


	5. All I Ask Of You

Hi everybody,

I am sorry there was no update last week. I had hoped I'd be able to write a new chapter, but jet-lag got in the way. Anyway, thank you to all of you who have been reading, who have added this story to favorites or put it on alert, and most of all, to all my loyal reviewers! You certainly keep me motivated!

Today's chapter may look more like a filler, but it is necessary for the plot, I assure you, you will see later! Now on to the story, and please keep in mind that I do not own those characters...

Also, don't let yourself be turned away from this chapter because of the title. I know that particular song is not an E/C-fan's favorite, but it is two different people talking here and the context is a different one. Enjoy!

Chapter 5 – All I Ask Of You

Erik had had a bad night. After he had watched Christine and Mme. Giry leave with the Vicomte, he had returned to his home. He had sat down in front of his organ, hoping that music would calm him and make him forget his worries. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on music and music alone, he could not shake the thought of Christine with the Vicomte.

"Christine is a virtuous girl," he kept telling himself, "and the Vicomte is a known lecher. She will not enjoy his advances, she will not fall for him." But then he remembered the Vicomte's good looks, his wealth, his position in society, his influence at the theater as the new patron, and he began to worry again. After all, Christine was a young woman, too, and one with romantic ideas in her pretty head. What if she saw the Vicomte as her Prince Charming, who would give her her fairy-tale happy ending one day?

He also remembered that Christine and the Vicomte had known each other as children, had played together and had even been something like childhood sweethearts. Was it so inconceivable that Christine still harbored some feelings for the pretty boy? That in her innocent naivety she still saw him as an ideal being, the friend from the past, from a time when her father had still been alive and life had been good for her? That she was incapable of noticing the signs of debauchery and deceit until it would be too late?

Erik groaned. He loved Christine with all his heart, and while he was convinced that he was not good enough for her in more ways than one, he had secretly hoped that she might one day learn to love him. The fact that she had not discontinued their lessons after she had found out that he was not an angel, but a hideously disfigured man with a bad temper to boot, _and_ the infamous Opera Ghost, had given him some hope that she might care for him at least a bit. But there was no way he could compete with a rival like the Vicomte.

The Vicomte was everything Erik was not: young, handsome, respected. How could Christine _not_ fall for that man? And yet, deep down Erik knew that if the Vicomte were an honorable man, that thought would not hurt half as much. If Christine did find love with somebody other than him, he knew he would be happy for her, even though his own heart would break. But the Vicomte... a man that only saw her as yet another prey, as a new challenge, and who would most likely throw her away like a used rag once he had reached his goal and dishonored her ...

Erik suddenly bolted upright. He had heard something. A pebble rolling... footsteps. Somebody was approaching his home. It could only be one of two persons, for nobody other than his two most trusted friends knew the way to this tomb that he called home.

He quietly approached the tunnel from which the sound of footsteps had come and found himself face to face with Mme. Giry.

"Antoinette!" he greeted her, then added nervously, "how did last night's supper go? What do you have to tell me? Christine and the Vicomte...?"

Mme. Giry smiled. "I'll tell you everything, Erik, but wouldn't it be better if we had a seat?"

"Of course," he admitted, leading her to a small sitting area. "Have a seat, Antoinette, and tell me all!"

Erik did not sit down, though, but kept pacing up and down. Of course he needed to learn what Antoinette had to say, but did he truly want to hear it? The fact that she was here was explanation enough already, or was it not? Surely, Christine had sent her to tell him that she had a suitor now and therefore did not want to continue her friendship with him any longer, so as not to make her boy jealous and thus jeopardize her chance at happiness with her perfect knight in shining armor.

"Erik!" Mme. Giry called out to him. "Sit down, and listen. There are a few things we need to discuss. Just relax. I have no idea why you are so tense." She smiled at him. "Because of Christine?" she asked.

Erik let himself fall into a chair, and nodded. "Yes," he admitted. "She went out with the Vicomte yesterday, didn't she? Did she... I mean, he is so handsome, and close in age to her ..."

"And a debauched lecher," Mme. Giry finished for him. "Oh, Erik, did you really fear she might fall for somebody like Raoul de Chagny?"

Erik nodded. "He can offer her so much, a life in the sunshine, an envied position in society,..."

"And shame and disgrace," Mme. Giry once again reminded him. "He as much as told me that he would want to make her his mistress."

"He dared saying that?" Erik screamed, jumping to his feet again.

"Well, not exactly," Mme. Giry admitted. "But he informed me that he had heard a man's voice – yours – from Christine's locked dressing room the night of her debut, and that _he_ would be more discreet than that." She sighed. "Apparently he thought she was already a fallen woman," she continued.

Erik seethed. "How does he dare insulting her with such a thought!" he screamed. "Christine is innocence and virtue personified!"

Mme. Giry put a steadying hand on Erik's shoulder. "You know that, and I know that, Erik. But this is one of the problems I want to discuss with you. If the Vicomte overheard you and Christine, somebody else might, too. I know that you will not take advantage of Christine in any way, and that you will always treat her with the utmost respect, even if the two of you are alone together behind locked doors, but..." She paused for effect. "Others will not see things that way," she finally added, stressing every single word.

Erik stared at her. "Are you trying to tell me, I should not see Christine any more?" he asked.

"No, not at all!" Mme. Giry reassured him. "On the contrary, but you must use more caution. I understand why you cannot risk anybody walking in on your lessons, and that that's the reason why you locked the door. But if you cannot teach her in her dressing room, take her down here, where nobody can overhear you. Lock the door, before you take her down, if you must, but make sure that nobody will hear the two of you talk when the doors are locked. This is Christine's reputation, we are speaking about, Erik. It is bad enough that the Vicomte already thinks she has a lover. We cannot risk anybody else jumping to that same conclusion!"

Erik was crestfallen. He had not thought about that. He himself had jeopardized Christine's reputation! Of course nothing untoward had happened between them, they had not even shared a kiss, but the theater was a large community, and there was gossip everywhere. How long would it take for Christine to be labeled a loose woman?

"I … I am deeply sorry," he whispered. "I know you are right, I should have made sure that nobody could hear us, should have taken her through the mirror, before I uttered the first word, or maybe just whispered low enough that I could not be heard from outside. Oh, Antoinette, how can you still allow me to see Christine, after I have harmed her so badly!"

"Because I do not want to sadden Christine," Mme. Giry said bluntly.

"Sadden?" Erik asked, his eyes wide. "You mean, you will not tell her, that I compromised her in the worst possible way?"

Mme. Giry shook her head. "No, I mean, I will not forbid her to see you, since that would hurt her even worse than a bit of gossip about her morals."

Erik looked at her. "You mean...?" he asked, incredulous.

Mme. Giry nodded. "Yes, Erik. I am fairly certain that Christine is about to open her heart to you. I always suspected she had feelings for her Angel that she did not dare admit even to herself, and now that she has met you..."

She looked him straight into the eyes. "And that is another problem that I need to discuss with you, Erik. Tell me, what are your feelings for her, your intentions towards her?"

"I worship the ground she walks on," Erik replied. "She is all I have ever dreamed of, kind and understanding, with a love and a talent for music, in one word, the most desirable woman I can imagine. But,..." he sighed. "I know that it would be preposterous to expect her to fall for a freak of nature like me. No woman will want a man with a face like mine, especially not a woman like her, who is the adored new diva, who can choose among all the young men of Paris..."

Mme. Giry shook her head. "You are too hard on yourself, Erik," she told him. "You do have a lot to offer. A heart full of love, for one thing, but you are also a very intelligent man, and you do have the means to support a wife..."

"Wife!" Erik groaned. "You do not think Christine would want to..." He pointed towards his mask-covered face. "Have you forgotten about that abomination?" he asked.

"No, Erik," Mme. Giry calmly interrupted him. "And while I know that she has not clearly seen your face yet, I also know that she understands now why you wear that mask. It has not changed her opinion of you. Nor has the fact that you gave her a taste of your temper a few nights ago. Of course I must insist that you must show her your face before you propose to her, but I do not think that it will change a thing between the two of you. Erik, she does care about you deeply, and you know how loyal she is. If she has opened her heart to someone, it will be forever."

There was a glimmer of hope at the bottom of Erik's eyes, when he turned to face Mme. Giry again. "Propose?" he asked huskily. "You think I should propose to Christine? That she would not run screaming if I did so?"

Mme. Giry smiled. "Well, I am not saying you should propose today or tomorrow. Give her a bit more time to adjust to the new situation, to get to know you a bit better as a man as opposed to a disembodied angelic voice, but yes, Erik, I think that after a suitable time of courtship you should propose to her – for both your sakes."

"You truly think Christine might accept?" Erik asked, still unconvinced.

"I do," Mme. Giry confirmed. "But, Erik, there is yet another point we have to discuss, namely: what happens, once the two of you will be engaged?"

"When... _if_... Christine and I become engaged," Erik said, "then we will plan our wedding."

Mme. Giry nodded. "Of course. But, Erik, have you thought about it? Where will the two of you live?"

Erik gave her a surprised look. "Well, here, of course," he said. "In my home. Isn't it customary that a woman follows her husband?"

Mme. Giry sighed. "Erik, please think about it. If you and Christine get married – and I have no doubt that this will happen in the foreseeable future - you cannot continue to hide and you cannot continue to live here. Christine needs a husband that can go places with her, that people can actually meet. If she wears a wedding band, but nobody ever sees the man in question, what will people think of her? Especially in case she would get pregnant... Think about it, Erik! And she definitely needs a normal home, a place with a mailing address, where friends, colleagues, etc. can actually reach her. She cannot live at some secret place, where it is difficult to get in touch with her if need be."

Erik paled. "A husband that can go places with her?" he asked. "Antoinette, you know that I cannot do that! I could rent a place for her, where she could live comfortably, and I'd probably find a way to get there unseen, in order to be with her, but you certainly cannot expect me to leave this place and face humanity for her sake!"

Mme. Giry was adamant. "Erik, I must ask this of you," she insisted. "If you just rented a home for Christine, where it would seem that she was staying alone, even with a wedding band, people would think she was some rich man's mistress. I know this is hard for you, and, considering your current role as the Opera Ghost, it may not even be possible here in Paris. But there are other cities, other theaters, where Christine could sing. Make inquiries, find a place that would suit you both. And, Erik,..." she hesitated. "You would also need a normal, regular job."

"Find a job, Erik," he parroted her. "Live above, in a normal home, Erik! Do you realize how impossible that is? How do you think I could do that, Antoinette? Do you think I just have to walk into somebody's office, saying, 'Hi, I am Erik, would you please hire me? I need a job, so that I can marry the woman I love!' Do you honestly believe anybody in this world would give me a job? And how about a home? Who would sell a house to the likes of me, a monster, a freak?"

"I know this won't be easy," Antoinette admitted. "But if you truly love Christine,..."

"I would give her the moon and the stars, if they were mine to give!" Erik exclaimed. "How can you doubt my love for her?"

"I do not doubt your love, Erik," Mme. Giry tried to soothe him. "Nor do I doubt her feelings for you, but please, Erik, understand, that I cannot give my consent to a wedding, if it will place Christine into an ambiguous position. Once Christine is married, there can be no doubts and questions about the validity of her claim of having a husband. The husband needs to be seen, the husband needs to have a profession, and the couple needs to live in an environment, where a child, should there be one, will be able to flourish. Those are my conditions. This is what I have to ask of you."

Erik slumped in his seat. "Why tell me to propose to Christine, then?" he inquired defeatedly. "Why did you give me hope that there might be a chance at a future with Christine? You know that I can never do any of those things that you ask me to do. I see your point, Antoinette, do not misunderstand me, and I know that you are right, but those are insurmountable barriers!"

"Erik, you are a genius, and I do have faith in you," Mme. Giry said. "Think about it, I know you will find a way, and as I said before, it need not be here in Paris, or even in France. Maybe a clean start, a fresh beginning, would be the best solution for both of you anyway. Make inquiries, check out various options, I know there will be a solution. And remember, you do not have to find it today or tomorrow. You will have to give Christine a few more weeks before you can propose, and then, you cannot marry her the next day anyway. You therefore have at least a few months to work on this. I am confident, that you will find a way to offer Christine the life she deserves – that you both deserve."

Erik closed his eyes. What she was asking of him was impossible. He knew from experience that nobody would trust him, that nobody would want to hire somebody like him, even though he had lots of expertise in many areas. He would for instance be able to work either as an architect or a musician and he knew how to run a theater. He could also work on a construction site, he had learned from a master mason in Italy years ago, or he would be able to do all sorts of translations, since he was fluent in several languages. But the question remained: who would want a masked freak to work for them?

Mme. Giry squeezed Erik's shoulder. "I know there is a way, Erik," she said. "We just have not found it yet. I will think about it, and maybe you will want to consult that friend of yours as well, the Persian gentleman."

"Nadir?" Erik looked up. "How can he help me? He cannot give me a job either!"

"But he might be able to help you in some other way," Mme. Giry insisted. "He could go places for you and test the waters, so to speak, check out possible opportunities. I mean, there must be places that do employ people that are different, people that have lost an arm or a leg, for instance. Those must work for their living as well. Maybe such a company would be willing to hire you. Or maybe your friend comes up with an idea that the two of us have not considered yet. It never hurts to hear as many opinions on any given question as possible."

Erik sighed. "It is pointless," he mumbled. "I do not fit into society. I am not part of it. I can never have a normal job like normal men, I can never live in a normal home like others do, and therefore,..." He was choking on the last words. "Therefore, Christine and I... it can never be!"

"Well, if you think that way, then you are probably right," Mme. Giry replied coldly. "I guess I have misjudged you then, Erik. I always thought of you as a genius, who could solve any problem, but apparently I was wrong. Maybe I should go back and tell Christine, that you do not care about her in the least." She stood and began to make her way towards the tunnel through which she had arrived.

"No, Antoinette, wait!" Erik yelled. "Don't tell her that! I... I will try! I promise! I just need time. I … right now I have no idea how I could achieve all that you have asked of me, but you are right, there must be a way. There simply has to!"


	6. To Win the Chance to Live

I am *sooo* sorry! I had hoped I would be able to update last weekend, but unfortunately I could not do so. This week was also rather busy and those of you who are still waiting for a review from me, I can assure you, I'll get to it later today.

Once again, I have to thank you all for reading, for adding to favorites and for putting on alert, but most of all, I have to thank my loyal reviewers! Without all of you, I would have given up long ago.

Anyway, here is the next chapter, and I hope you will like it. Our Erik is facing a difficult situation... and please keep in mind that none of these characters belong to me...

Chapter 6 – To Win the Chance to Live..

After Mme. Giry had left, Erik slumped in his chair. He replayed the conversation he had had with her in his mind, and he once again came to the conclusion that she was right. That if he wanted to win Christine's heart, he would also have to make sure that he could offer her a normal life. True, she could continue to sing at the Opéra Populaire, even if she lived with him down here in the cave that passed for a home. But, while this lair might be fine for him, even if he bought her the finest furniture and carpets, it would not be good enough for Christine.

His Christine needed sunshine and daylight. He could not expect her to waste away in this place of perpetual darkness, of stone and water, only illuminated by candles. This most definitely was no place for a young woman, and even less so for a child, though Erik was fairly certain that even if he won Christine's love and they got married there would be no children. He would have to find a way to avoid that possibility, for he would rather die than pass his deformity on to an innocent child.

But children or no children, the fact remained that his home was not a suitable place for Christine. And Mme. Giry also had a point when she had said that Christine needed a home with an address, where letters, notes, messages from friends or colleagues could reach her. And a husband that people could actually meet.

That was the hardest point. That and Antoinette's request that he find a job. But those two problems were interconnected, it all came down to one single fact: his face. If his face were normal, there would be no problem. He could apply for any job he liked anywhere he wanted and he would be able to earn a living for himself and his wife in an honest way. He would also be able to accompany her to parties, attend her performances, take her out to dinner or for a walk in the park, visit her father's grave with her, and so on. _If_ his face were normal.

Erik sighed. Christine deserved a man that would be able to do all those things for her and with her. But how could he become that man, since there was no way he could change his face? Or could he? A few years ago he had experimented with a rubber mask that would be almost imperceptible, but his attempts at creating such a lifelike covering for his deformity had not been too successful. The material he had worked with had been rather brittle. While it could be formed easily, it was impossible to create the kind of smooth surface he had hoped for. It had also been rather itchy, not to mention the fact that it had caused him some skin irritation. The best he had been able to achieve had been a mask that he could tolerate wearing for maybe half an hour, useful if he needed to go out in the middle of the day, but it would certainly not make it possible for him to wear it for a whole workday, even less so, several days a week.

Still, a less noticeable mask was the only thing he could think of that might help him achieve all the things Mme. Giry had asked of him. He would have to look into this again, maybe try out different materials. Leather maybe? Or would it help if he painted his white mask a more natural, flesh-like color? If he used a thinner material than the porcelain he currently wore, and painted it to match his natural skin color, would people still notice his mask as much?

Erik groaned. It could take weeks, months, till his efforts in that direction would have the desired effect. Maybe even years. If it were true that Christine loved him, as Mme. Giry thought and he himself hoped, could he ask her to wait that long before they could get married? Was there another way he could secure a job and at least try to live like a normal man?

"Not here in Paris," Erik decided. Here he would not be able to find work unless he could somehow grow a new face. Here the stories about the masked Phantom that was haunting the Opéra Populaire were well-known, and any man wearing a mask would be suspected of being that famous entity. No, he could never apply for a job here, unless he wanted to risk getting arrested for extortion and other more or less minor crimes.

He would therefore have to consider moving to a different town. But where should he go? And how could he explore employment possibilities elsewhere when he had to stay here with Christine and court her? He certainly could not do both.

Erik remembered something else Mme. Giry had said. Nadir. His Persian acquaintance. Friend, Mme. Giry had called him, but the Persian was really more of a nuisance than a friend most of the time. True, he had saved Erik's life and had helped him escape from the Shah when the latter had decided that Erik's usefulness had come to an end, but he had such high moral standards and therefore did not approve of Erik's current way of life. How many times had Nadir told Erik that while he could somewhat understand that Erik wanted to be paid for his artistic advice, the threats were inappropriate, and the pranks even more so!

When Nadir had learned about Carlotta's accident that had prevented her from singing the opening night performance of "Hannibal", he had been downright appalled. He had told Erik that he was very disappointed in him, that he had hoped him to be a better man than that.

Erik laughed. It was not a happy sound, though, his laughter was bitter. Nadir would love his current situation. He would be at his most insufferable, if Erik asked him for help in his current dilemma. There would be no end to his gloating. "I told you so", he would say, or "at last you see reason." He would remind Erik of the many times he had already lectured him, preached to him, begged him to change his lifestyle, to become a more honorable member of society.

"I will not hear the end of it!" Erik groaned. Was that really an option? Could he ask Nadir for help? Would that pesky Persian even want to help him? And even if he wanted to – would he be able to?

"He is kind of an outcast, as well," Erik reminded himself. "Not as much for his looks like myself, but because of his cultural background and his religion. He might not be trusted too much. If he is seeking information, will he be able to get it any more than I would?"

Was it really worth to face the Persian's gloating, if the latter might not have any more success in securing a job for Erik than Erik himself? But what other option did he really have? Somehow Erik had to find a place where he and Christine could live together, and where he would be able to earn their living by working a regular job. This place could not be Paris, since his Phantom persona was too well known here. Their future home therefore had to be another town.

Of course Erik could leave the Opéra Populaire right away and travel around, looking for such a place. But that would mean he would have to leave Christine. He did not think this would be wise right now, with the new patron lusting for her. He did not want to leave her unprotected. Also, while he knew that Christine still considered him her friend, even though she now knew that he was no angel, that he was a disfigured man with a bad temper and on top of it all the Opéra Ghost that the authorities would love to get their hands on, he was not certain of her love yet. Mme. Giry seemed to be convinced that Christine loved him, and to be honest, he had made some observations as well that had given him hope. But what if he left now? If he went elsewhere in order to build a future for them.

Would Christine wait for him? They had not really spoken of love yet, only hinted at the possibility. It was too soon for such things, he knew it. He had to give Christine time to get to know him better, to adjust to the new situation. He could not ask her yet, could not say the binding words yet. But could he go before everything was clear between them? What would she think of him if he told her he had to leave, without being able to tell her when he would come back? Especially since he could not well tell her why he had to leave. Would she think he was abandoning her? Would she doubt his feelings for her?

Erik's fist hit the table in front of him. Hard. "I can't leave her, not now!" he screamed. "Not before I know for certain that she does love me, that she will wait. But even then, with the Vicomte around, it will not be wise to leave her unprotected. But to ask Nadir for help... !"

He felt like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. There was no ideal solution. Every option had its severe disadvantages. Every option had a distinct possibility of failure.

What should he do? Should he face Nadir, admit that the Persian had been right all along, that Erik needed a job and a home like any other man, live through the daroga's endless gloating, teasing and preaching, only to find out that it had been all in vain, that the Persian could not help him after all? Or should he go and check out the potential places himself? Which would mean leaving Christine behind, alone, unprotected. Prey to the Vicomte.

Erik sighed. He did not like it, not in the least, but everything pointed towards him having to ask Nadir for help. It would be annoying, humiliating even, but if he could enlist Nadir's help, the man could travel around and explore possible options for him, while Erik himself would be able to stay here, with Christine, to protect her, should need be, and, most important of all, to give her a chance to get to know him better.

True, there was no guarantee that Nadir would have any more success in finding a place where Erik would not be shunned if he decided to live there with Christine, that Nadir would not be able to find an employer willing to hire Erik despite his mask, but even if he failed, at least there would be no harm done. If, on the other hand, Erik himself went in search of a home, it would mean risking Christine's safety and losing her trust.

"There is no way around it," Erik finally decided. "Nadir. I have to explain the situation to him and ask him for his help."

Xxxx

As soon as it was at least halfway dark outside, Erik went on his way. Fortunately, the Persian did not live far away, and Erik knew all the back alleys and short cuts that would allow him to reach Nadir's home without running into too many people. The wide-brimmed hat also helped to disguise his mask and in the evening twilight it was relatively safe for him to walk the streets of the city.

Erik walked briskly and soon arrived at the Persian's home. When he knocked, the manservant Darius answered the door. "Monsieur..." he stammered.

"I need to talk to your master," Erik hissed at him. "Is he in?"

"Y..Ye..Yess...," the frightened servant stammered. "In the parlor, please..."

Erik shoved the man aside. He knew the way to Nadir's parlor.

"Erik! I had not expected you! What brings you here?" the Persian greeted him, grinning widely. "Would you care for a game of chess? Are you bored? Don't you have an opera house to haunt?"

Erik cringed. Maybe coming here had not been such a good idea after all. "I need your help," he informed the exuberant elder man.

"My help? Erik, Erik, you know that I do not want any part in your schemes!" Nadir chastised him. "You will never make me lend you a hand with your machinations that one day or another will cause you to be arrested. Unlike you, I am an honorable man."

Erik's hands formed fists. He had known it. It was pointless. He did not need that kind of a lecture, not now. Not ever. What he did need was Nadir willing to travel to find a place where he and Christine could start a new life. But how could he explain that to the Persian? How could he even be certain that the man would be willing to help him?

"This is about Christine," he finally mumbled. The moment he had pronounced that name, he wished he had found another way to start explaining his situation.

"Christine?" Nadir asked. "Your student? The new diva? What about her? How do you need my help in that regard? Do you want me to push another piece of scenery on Carlotta so that that protégée of yours can sing a few more performances? Maybe I should make sure Carlotta will get injured and thus will be out for quite a while?"

"NO!" Erik screamed. "It's nothing like that. On the contrary." He was beyond caring now. It was obvious that Nadir was not going to help him. Apparently that little Persian was so convinced that Erik was a lost cause that nothing he could say or do would make him think otherwise.

"If you did not constantly interrupt me and actually listened, you would know now that I need a job and a house and if possible a new face, so that Christine and I can get married!" Erik yelled.

The Persian laughed so hard that he almost choked. "Marry?" he asked. "You want to marry Christine Daaé? Does she know about your intentions? What makes you think she will agree? Last time I checked she thought you were an Angel! That poor child could not be farther from the truth. You and an angel!"

He paused. "I am not saying you could not be one, Erik," he added, suddenly sounding very serious. "You do have it in you to be a good man, nobody knows that better than I do, if only you made an effort and tried to fully realize your potential. Allah knows that I would not have saved your life back then if I did not feel that way, but all my efforts to make you see the wrong of your ways have been futile."

Erik looked down. He could not face the daroga. "I am not joking," he whispered. "I need to find a place where Christine and I can start a new life. Where a freak of nature like myself might be able to earn a living for himself and his wife, where we could live in a normal house."

Nadir glanced at him. "Christine?" he asked. "Erik, while I do appreciate your intention to at least try and live a normal life, I do have to ask you, what is this about Christine? I can see that you are completely smitten with the girl, but have you considered the fact that, apart from your face, which might be a problem, as you know, you are also almost old enough to be her father, and that your current lifestyle is not exactly within the laws?" He put a hand on Erik's shoulder. "I am not saying this to hurt your feelings, Erik," he told his younger friend. "But I must remind you of these facts, I do not want you to get your hopes up too much."

"I know all that," Erik blurted out. "But believe it or not, Christine already knows that I am a man, and a hideously deformed one, though Antoinette assures me that Christine has not really seen my face yet. But she does know why I am wearing that mask," he continued. "And she has had a taste of my temper as well. _And_ she knows that I am the Phantom. Yet she has not stopped our lessons yet, and she looks at me... and she has hinted... and when I left the red rose for her yesterday..."

He smiled at the memory of watching her from behind the mirror, when she had picked up his red rose, the token of his love, and had held it to her nose, deeply inhaling the flower's perfume, and then she had lightly put it to her lips, as if she wanted to kiss it. There had been something in her eyes, so much tenderness and hope and … had it been desire?

"Mademoiselle Daaé knows...?" Nadir was speechless. "And you think...?"

"I hope," Erik admitted. "And Antoinette also thinks that Christine... that I have reason to hope. Of course it is too soon to ask Christine, but Antoinette says she will only give her consent if I can offer Christine a normal life."

"Allah may bless that girl!" Nadir exclaimed excitedly. "If what you are telling me is true, it seems that that young singer has succeeded in what I had given up hope of ever achieving, namely to make you change your ways for the better! So, what is it that you need my help with?"

Erik then explained the situation to Nadir. "You see, it is more or less impossible for us to stay in Paris," he said. "I am not so sure about the rest of France. People in Lyon or Marseilles might have heard about the Phantom, or authorities in Paris might learn about a masked man living in any other French town. Considering my … activities … here, it might be better to go abroad, where I am not a wanted man. Would you mind checking out towns in neighboring countries for me? Finding out what my chances would be of finding employment there, of being accepted despite this," - he pointed to his masked face. "And, most importantly, what would Christine's chances be at working at a local theater?"

Nadir smiled. "I cannot promise you anything, Erik," he said. "But I will certainly try. It may take a while, though," he cautioned his friend. "The first city I go to may not be suitable for your purposes, and of course I will have to spend some time in each city I check out in order to properly evaluate it. But I will do my best."

He thought about it for a few minutes. "I think I could leave next weekend. Would that work for you?" Erik nodded. "Send any messages to Antoinette," he asked the Persian. "She will pass your letters on to me."


	7. Share Each Day With Me

Hi everybody,

thank you so much for reading, putting on alert, adding to favorites, and,most of all, for reviewing. I know some of you have been hoping for Erik and Christine to get some alone-time, and here it is now, the chapter you have been waiting for. I hope you will like it! But please keep in mind that I do not own these characters...

Chapter 7 – Share Each Day With Me...

A few weeks had passed. Christine and Erik continued their voice lessons as usual, except that these now took place in Erik's home. Mme. Giry had talked to Christine as well and explained how it could hurt her reputation if people overheard her talking to Erik, as had already happened with the Vicomte and Christine had only been too happy at the prospect to have future lessons in 'the lair', as they called it. Their time together was heaven for both of them, as well as hell. They enjoyed each other's presence, their shared love for music, their working together, but both longed for more.

Christine was now studying the role of the countess in the upcoming production of "Il Muto" with Erik. Of course Carlotta was once again going to be the star of the play, and since Erik had promised Christine he would not interfere on her behalf again, chances were small that she would actually be able to sing the part at all. But one never knew. Carlotta was unreliable. She could send word one day that she was not feeling well and therefore would not be up to singing this evening's performance. In such a case it would be expected of Christine to step in. Erik therefore wanted to make sure she could sing the demanding role to perfection.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh, ha ha ha ha ha!" Christine sang, when Erik interrupted her.

"The laughter must sound lighter," he explained. "The countess is amusing herself at the expenses of her husband, this needs to sound gay and happy and maybe a little bit spiteful. Can you imagine feeling that way?"

Christine thought for a moment, then nodded. She only had to think of the Vicomte, who had taken her and her loyal chaperone Mme. Giry out for dinner a few more times those past few weeks, who seemed convinced that he was irresistible and that sooner or later she would fall into his waiting arms, swooning. And then she thought at how fun it would be to see his face once she'd told him that she was in love with somebody else. A mischievous smile crossed her lips. That must be pretty much how this countess in "Il Muto" felt about her preposterous husband.

"Good," Erik commented. "Now try again, but imbue the music with these feelings. One, two,..." His fingers danced across the keys of his organ and Christine began again.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh, ha ha ha ha ha!" Her voice now was full of laughter and glee, the countess' amusement very obvious.

"Much better," Erik praised her. "That is exactly how this song should sound. Light, lively, full of laughter. You have done well, my child."

Christine winced. Was that how he saw her? As a child? Was that, why in all those weeks since he had revealed himself to her as a man, he had never even tried to flirt with her, never even hinted at the possibility that he could feel more for her than a teacher's love for his student? Had she been mistaken that first night, when she had thought he had hoped to win her love? Had she somehow misunderstood him when he had told her that fear could turn to love? Had he only expected a student's appreciation of a good teacher from her? But if so, why then the red rose?

She knew she loved Erik with all her heart. She had always loved him, even when she had only believed him to be an angel. They had spent so much time together over the years, he had helped her in so many ways, not just after her father's death or with her voice. He was such an educated person, he had taught her so much. They shared many opinions on all sorts of topics. And the most important thing, they shared a love for music, that few others would be able to understand. But that was not all. The more time they spent together, the more Christine longed to get closer to him, to have him take her hand, look her deeply into the eyes, maybe even kiss her.

She shyly glanced at Erik. Half his face was hidden under that mask of his. She knew he was heavily deformed. Even though she had been too frightened that first night to look at his face, and he had been quick to turn away from her and cover his disfigurement with his hand, she understood that this part of him was not a pretty sight. She had asked Mme. Giry to describe it to her, and what she had heard sounded downright ghastly. Supposedly the flesh on his right side was marred, and the skin was so thin in one place that the skull bone was shining through. But... Erik's eyes were the most expressive ones she had ever seen, and his lips... Somehow she wished, she could touch them,with her fingers, or even better, with her own lips.

Christine blushed at the thought. But she also realized that there was no chance of this ever going to happen, if Erik continued to treat her as the child she once had been.

"I am not a child anymore," she therefore said, looking Erik into the eyes and standing up straight, to showcase the fact that her chest had taken on a more womanly form in recent months.

Erik squirmed. It was painfully obvious to him that Christine was a woman now, with a woman's body. She did not have to flaunt her assets at him that way, thus making him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. But he could not attack her like that. She deserved more respect."

Fighting for control, Erik turned away from the tempting view of Christine. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then rasped, "I know."

Christine's eyes widened. He knew! Then why was he still treating her like a child? And why had he just turned away from her? She was sure that Raoul would not have missed such a chance to stare at her bosom with hungry eyes, making her feel almost naked. How come that the man she had no interest in seemed to appreciate all she had to offer, while Erik, the one she wanted to notice her assets, seemed to shy away from them?

"And...," she began again. She hesitated. What could she say now? How could she find out if he did not find her pleasing enough, if her appearance was not to his taste, without embarrassing them both?

"I mean,..." Christine stammered. "Is that a problem? You still treat me like a child, not like an adult, you even just called me _child_."

Erik sighed. He understood that he had somehow hurt her, that he had made her feel inferior, treated her in a condescending way. He had not intended that. Hurting her in any way, shape or form was the farthest thing from his mind. He had to somehow explain the situation to her.

"This is difficult for me," he slowly began. "I mean, I am used to seeing you as a child and to treating you like one. I know how to deal with a child. But this... this is a new situation."

Christine frowned. Had he just told her that he needed time to adjust to the fact that she now was a woman? "You would rather have me be a child still?" she asked. "That would be easier for you?"

Erik nodded. "I have not much experience with... women," he confessed. Well, that probably was the understatement of the year. His experience with the fair sex was practically non-existent. Most women in his life had been treating him in a rather hostile way, his mother, for instance, and the Khanum. True, Antoinette was a woman, too, and he interacted with her regularly, but somehow he had never truly seen her that way. To him, Antoinette was a friend, the person that had helped him escape from the gypsies, and in that not too different from Nadir, the person who had helped him escape from the Shah.

Christine smiled. So that was it! He had no idea how to deal with her, now that she was not a child anymore. Her hand shyly reached out for his, intertwining her fingers with his.

"Look at me," she whispered. "Erik, Angel, please look at me!"

Erik slowly turned around. He could not believe it. This most desirable woman, his sweet darling Christine, had reached out to him, had touched him, the hideous freak of nature, out of her own free will. He looked at their joined hands and took a deep breath. No, he had not imagined it. She really was holding on to him, squeezing his long, bony fingers with her soft ones.

"You... you touch me," he rasped, his voice shaking.

Christine laughed. "Why would I not touch you?" she asked. "We are friends, are we not? We have known each other for such a long time. Friends touch each other, they hug and..." She blushed. She had almost said "and kiss". But that would have been too wanton, would it not? She could not tell him that openly that she longed for his kiss, that she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers.

"That's different," Erik insisted. "Your other friends,... they are not like me." And he pointed to the mask that hid his ugliness from her.

Christine thought she understood. The mask! Of course, how could she have forgotten! He obviously thought that because of whatever lay beneath it, he was somehow unworthy, an inferior being. That's why he always kept his distance, always stayed an arm's length away from her, while still giving her red roses and sometimes looking at her in a way that gave her butterflies in the belly.

"Erik," she begged, squeezing his hand even tighter and stepping a bit closer. "I know why you are wearing that mask, and even though I have not seen the right side of your face yet, Mme. Giry has described it to me. It does not matter, I promise. It makes no difference. You are still my Angel, my best friend. Is the fact that we are still having lessons together proof enough to you that I don't care about your face?"

"You have not seen it yet," Erik insisted. "At least not clearly. If you had, you would not be standing here, you would be running away as fast as you can, screaming." He sounded resigned, and his eyes... Oh God, Christine had to look away, for she could not bear the sadness that lay at the bottom of his eyes. All the sadness of this world.

"No, I would not," she whispered, trying in vain to give her voice strength. "Erik, please, believe me."

Christine knew that this was a decisive moment. That the next minutes would either bring them together or pull them apart forever. She had to be strong now, she had to summon all her courage. Both their happiness might depend on what would happen next.

"Let me show you," she begged, stepping even closer. "I know you have had bad experiences in that regard, and I can understand that it is hard for you to trust me, but, please, Erik let me see it. You are the most important person in my life, have been the most important person for me since my dear papa passed away all those years ago. Do you really think that could change because of such an insignificant detail as looks? You will always be as dear to me as you have been those past couple of years. My opinion of you will never change. Your face will make no difference. Let me see it. Let me see my Angel's real face, not a mask covering part of it. We are friends, are we not? Does a friend not deserve to know your true face?"

Erik sighed. Christine was standing very close to him now, her breasts almost touching his chest, their fingers still interlaced. Her hair smelled of wild flowers, and her eyes looked at him so pleadingly. He could have stood like that with her forever. He was certain that he would never again experience such exquisite pleasure again, such a feeling of nearness and belonging.

He did not really want to do it, deep down he knew that it would end this perfect moment, but how could he resist her, when her closeness was making it impossible for him to think clearly? His free hand almost automatically reached for his mask, and after another brief moment of hesitation, he took it off, instinctively turning his head, to face away from her.

"Erik," Christine's voice sounded jubilant. "You did it! You took off your mask for me. You _do_ trust me!" She smiled at him encouragingly, and her free hand now reached for his head, urging him to face her again.

She looked him deep into the eyes and saw fear there, panic, as if he only now realized what he had done, that she could see his uncovered face. "I need to be strong now," Christine told herself. "I need to show myself worthy of his trust. He is so vulnerable now."

She slowly moved her eyes to the ravaged part of his face. She gasped. It was terrible, truly hideous. There were no words to describe the degree of his deformity, and yet... This was Erik, her Angel, her best friend, the man she had fallen in love with long before she had known he was real. And this affliction had caused him a lot of pain already in his life, had forced him here into this subterranean tomb that he called a home.

Overcome with compassion, her hand reached for his ravaged cheek and slightly caressed it. "Oh Erik," she whispered, "my poor Erik! Does it hurt? It looks so raw to me."

Erik stood there, paralyzed. He was in shock. When Christine had first turned his head to get a full look at his deformity, he had felt exposed. He thought he would not feel half as embarrassed if for some reason he were suddenly standing on the stage of the Opéra Populaire, stark naked, in front of a full audience. He held his breath, waiting for Christine's scream of disgust. That scream never came. He vaguely noticed that she was talking to him, speaking softly, though her words did not register with him. And then...

Heaven! Pure Heaven! Erik felt Christine's hand on his cheek, touching it gently, almost lovingly caressing it. He could not believe it.

"You... you did not run!" he whispered, still unable to fully process what was happening.

"Why should I?" Christine cooed to him, one of her hands still holding his, while the fingers of her other hand were gently tracing the lumps of flesh on the right side of his face. "You are my best friend, Erik. I told you, nothing will change that – ever."

"You... you are not disgusted?" Erik stammered.

Christine shook her head. "Why would I be?" she asked again. "It is a face, admittedly a rather unique and unusual one, but still, just a face. Faces are not disgusting. Your face is not disgusting, nor frightening or whatever else you think it might be. It is just different, that's all. But it is the face of my Angel, of my dear, dear Erik, that's all that matters to me. That you finally deemed me worthy to see it, to finally know what you look like without your mask."

Erik fell to his knees, sobbing. He could not believe it. Had he heard her correctly? "You... you... do not mind?" he asked.

Christine crouched down beside him and put her arms around him. Somehow she knew that he was overwhelmed, that he needed comfort now. "I do not mind at all," she whispered into his ear. "Nothing has changed, you are still my Erik." Somehow her lips found his forehead for a feather-like kiss.

"You... you would kiss me?" Erik looked up, straight into her eyes, and all he saw there was compassion, understanding, love. Christine smiled at him, her lips wide and red and inviting, and suddenly Erik could not hold himself back anymore, he lowered his head towards hers and their lips touched.

A bolt of electricity shot through both their bodies as their lips connected. Christine closed her eyes and melted into Erik's kiss. Instinctively she opened her mouth as she felt his tongue teasing her lips, and met his tongue with hers. Erik's arms were encircling her now, and their bodies were pressed together, as their tongues touched and explored each other.

They both felt timeless, and neither wanted this experience to end, but after a while they had to break apart for breath. "I love you," Erik whispered, just before his mouth caught Christine's for a second kiss.

Half an eternity later, when they finally broke away again, Christine replied. "I love you, too, Erik," she cooed, pressing herself against him. "I have waited so long for you to kiss me!"

"I didn't dare," Erik confessed. "I didn't think you would want somebody like me, a man as ugly and old as I am!"

"As if I'd want anybody but you!" Christine teased him. "It is the person you are that I want and love. You have always been so caring, nurturing with me, so understanding. You helped me over my father's death, and you are the only one that understands and shares my love for music. I was so nervous _you_ would not want _me_ , thinking of me as a stupid child, intellectually your inferior!"

Erik stood and pulled Christine to her feet again. "And what happens now, that we know that we love each other?" her asked.

Christine blushed. "We kiss again?" she suggested and Erik complied.

After some more kissing, they sat down on Erik's couch, huddled closely together. "Will you marry me, Christine?" Erik asked, looking her deep into the eyes.

"Of course I will," Christine assured him. "I have dreamed about you asking me that for a long time!"

Erik suddenly grew serious. "We might have to wait a while, before we can get married," he confessed. "Antoinette … Mme. Giry, she will not give her consent unless I can offer you a normal home, and unless I have a job that enables me to support you."

Christine frowned. "Why can we not live here?" she asked. "And you could continue to act as unofficial advisor to Messieurs André and Firmin."

Erik shook his head and explained to her what he had discussed with both, Mme. Giry and Nadir. "Nadir is currently in Amsterdam," he finished, "but that city does not seem to be right for us. He is planning to go to London next. We will just have to be patient. I have also been working on a more lifelike mask, but so far I have not had much success. Now that I know that you love me, I will double my efforts, but it may still be a while before we can leave Paris behind and start our life together. Christine, will you be patient? Will you not grow tired of waiting?"

Christine hugged him. "Now that I know that you love me, I will be strong," she promised. "It may take a while, but I know now that our day will come, the day when we can finally be together, when you can share each day with me, each night, each morning, when you won't have to hide in the dark anymore, and will be able to stand at my side openly, as my husband and love."


	8. Let the audience in

Hi everybody,

thank you all once again for reading, for putting on alert, adding to favorites, and, most of all, for reviewing. I am glad you all ejoyed the previous chapter so much, but as some of you have noted, there is some angst ahead for our sweethearts, and we are entering that part now...

I hope you will still enjoy the suspense, though. Just keep in mind that I don't own those characters...

Chapter 8 – Let the audience in...

When the couple finally realized that it was time for Christine to return to the Opéra, Erik decided to take her a different way than usual, not leading back to her dressing room, but very close to Mme. Giry's rooms. He felt that they should see his old friend together and tell her about the new development their relationship had taken.

Mme. Giry was slightly surprised to see the two of them at her door, but once she noticed their beaming faces, she did not have to be told what had just happened between her two protégés. "Oh, Erik, Christine!" She exclaimed. "Is it now official? Are you engaged? I am so happy for you, both of you!" And she hugged each of them.

Then she grew serious. "Have you told Christine that you cannot get married anytime soon?" she asked Erik.

Erik nodded solemnly. "Of course, Antoinette," he stated. "I honor your requests, and I know that you are right in asking that of me. It is just..." He looked away, overcome with frustration. Several weeks had passed since Nadir had left Paris in order to find a suitable place for Erik and Christine to live, and Erik had been experimenting with several materials in order to produce a more lifelike mask that would enable him to pursue a normal career and live among other human beings, but so far neither of these endeavors had had any success.

Christine's small hand reached for his and brought him out of his brooding. "We will find a way," she told him. "Erik, I do believe it, and you must too. It may take a while, but sooner or later, we will be able to be together for all the world to see."

Erik pulled her into his arms. What would he do without her? How had he ever been able to survive without her at his side to support him and to give him strength? "I will double my efforts with the mask," he promised her. "I know that there is a way, I will just have to work harder in order to find the perfect solution, and in the meantime, Nadir will be checking out other towns. Maybe, with a bit of luck, we can leave Paris and get married in a few months."

Mme. Giry tried to bring up questions of propriety for them continuing their lessons unchaperoned, now that they were aware of their feelings for each other and were more or less engaged. She had to give in, though, when Erik pointed out that the lessons had to go on for the time being, in order to prepare Christine for the new production of "Il Muto", and that as long as they could not officially proclaim their engagement, Christine's reputation was still at risk in case somebody overheard them together if they had those lessons in her dressing room. So unless Mme. Giry wanted to accompany Christine down to his lair for those lessons,...

Mme. Giry finally relented, but not before having made both of them swear to her that they would go no farther than kissing.

Xxx

After Erik had left the two ladies, it was time for Christine to return to her dressing room in order to get ready for this evening's performance. Carlotta would be singing the part of Elyssa tonight, so Christine would only be in the chorus, but it still meant that she had to get into her costume in time.

When she reached her dressing room, which she had locked from the inside when Erik had come to take her down to his lair for their lesson, she found to her surprise the door wide open, and when she entered, she spotted the Vicomte sitting in front of her dressing table, rummaging through the drawers.

"What is going on here?" Christine asked, annoyed. "How did you get in here?"

Raoul gave her a wolfish grin. "I was looking for you and could not find you," he told her. "Nobody seemed to know where you were. And this door was locked, which made me suspicious." He raised his arms to prevent any argument from her.

"No, no, I was not thinking that you would deliberately lock yourself in with another man," he declared, "despite what I overheard the night of your debut. The good Mme. Giry swears that you are an honorable girl, so I am giving you the benefit of the doubt, but... " He paused for emphasis. "But what if a fiend had dragged you there, locking the door behind him, and was assaulting you? They say there is a Ghost on the premises, a Phantom, who preys on the young chorus girls. I was worried about you..."

"So you just forced the door open?" Christine was beyond angry. She was not quite sure what was worse, the fact that his words were an insult, insinuating that he thought her capable of inappropriate behavior with a man, or the breach of privacy, his forcing his way into her locked room and now looking through her belongings.

"And what are you doing at my dressing table?" she continued to yell at Raoul. "Have you no sense of decency at all?"

Raoul realized that he had gone too far, that Christine had a right to be angry. He needed to appease her somewhat. "I am sorry for that, Christine," he faked being contrite in order to calm her. "But you must understand. I was _worried_ about you. Worried sick. For all I know you could have been abducted by this Phantom or by some other unsavory character. I needed to make sure you were all right."

It did not escape him that Christine slightly flinched at his mention of the resident Opera Ghost. So he had been right! She did know that entity, and he probably was right about the Phantom being her mysterious voice coach as well.

For a moment Christine had been afraid that Raoul would guess the truth about her relationship with Erik, then she composed herself again. "He can't know anything," she told herself. "He is only making wild accusations to cover up for his own mistake of forcing the door. And even if he has a suspicion, he has no proof." It was therefore best to ignore that comment of his.

"That still does not give you the right to open my drawers," she accused Raoul. "Have you never heard about a person's right to privacy?"

"You must forgive me," Raoul pleaded with her, once again falling back into his role of old friend. "I hoped to find some hint on where you might have gone. You see, you are an orphan, you do not have your good father to look after you anymore. As your oldest friend I therefore feel the obligation to take his place and keep you safe. I thought that maybe somebody had sent you a note, asking you to meet them somewhere, or something like that. I did not mean you any harm. I certainly did not want to upset you."

Christine sighed. She did not buy this excuse for one moment, but she had to admit that it was at least _some_ explanation for his breach of privacy. She also knew that despite the latest development between her and Erik she would have to remain with the Opéra Populaire for the foreseeable future, and that also meant keeping the patron happy, as the two managers had reminded her only a few weeks ago.

"I see," she therefore relented, pretending to buy Raoul's excuse. "Though I don't know who would send me such a note..."

"Well, the seamstress maybe," Raoul suggested, "or your teacher?" He kept his eyes on her and once again noticed a slight blush as he mentioned the mysterious voice coach. "You do see your teacher regularly, do you not?"

"On occasion," Christine managed to say, though it was clear she disliked the way the conversation was going.

"Do you see him at his home or does he come here to give you lessons?" Raoul inquired. "I assume you are properly chaperoned during your lessons?"

Christine nodded. "Yes," she mumbled, looking down. She feared that Raoul would realize just how much this teacher meant to her if she looked him straight into the eyes.

"Well, in that case I guess everything is in order," Raoul continued lightly. "Just keep in mind that a girl has just one reputation. Once that is tarnished, she won't get her good reputation back. And make sure that I will not have to worry about you again the way I just did. Also remember that your dear departed father would not want you to stray from the right path and that I am here to look after you in his place."

Christine nodded. She was at a loss what to reply. The impertinence of the young Vicomte was unsettling. How did he, the one that always looked at her as if he were imagining her naked, dare to insinuate that she indulged in dalliances behind closed doors?

"If you will kindly leave me now," Christine finally said, looking up at Raoul again. "I have to get ready for tonight's performance."

Raoul had the good sense to fake an embarrassed look. "Of course, of course, Christine," he said, "I will leave now, so that you can get changed, my dear."

Christine smiled at him mischievously. "You could do me a favor," she told him, "and stop by at the locksmith's. After all, I do need a new lock on my door..."

Xxxx

Raoul was seething. Christine had treated him pretty poorly. How did that wench dare asking him to run errands for her? True, it was his fault that the lock on her door was ruined, but on the other hand, why had she locked that door in the first place? What was in there that she did not want anybody to see? And the way she had squirmed and flinched when he had mentioned first the Phantom and then her teacher. There was no doubt anymore in his mind that these two were one and the same person. And he also was rather convinced that this so-called Opera Ghost was also the reason why he had had no success with Christine so far. That Ghost obviously had a hold on her. Either she was that criminal's mistress or in love with him, but she definitely was under that man's spell. He would have to get her away from him if he wanted to win her for himself.

Raoul thought about this for a while. After he had learned about the Ghost's existence in the cafeteria he had brought the subject up with the managers. They had not been too forthcoming, and only after he had confronted them with what he already knew had they admitted that they did receive strange notes containing suggestions on how to improve the productions, and asking for some money in return. They did not seem to know who was behind those notes, but the existence of these little messages definitely scared them. It was unlikely that these two fools would be of any help if he wanted to get rid of this mysterious entity that he saw as an obstacle to getting his way with Christine.

The scene-shifter on the other hand, that Joseph something or other that he had overheard in the cafeteria the other day, he did not seem to be easily scared. And Raoul had not had the impression that this man would have too many scruples. Maybe that would be the man to talk to...

Xxxx

A few days later, after the performance, when Buquet was sitting in his favorite tavern, drinking one beer after the other, he suddenly found the Opéra's new patron sitting next to him at the bar.

"Good evening, Joseph," Raoul greeted, while waving at the barkeeper to get himself a drink as well.

"Goo.. Goo... Good evening, Sir," Buquet mumbled, already half-drunk. "What a... sur.. surprise to see … see you here!"

"Shhhh," Raoul put a finger on his lips to silence the big, burly man. "Not so loud. Let's sit down at that table over there in the corner. I have to talk to you. I might have a lucrative offer..."

The thought of some additional income quickly sobered Buquet. "Certainly, Sir," he said, and made his way to the table that Raoul had indicated to him.

After the waiter had brought Raoul's beer as well, Raoul whispered. "Tell me all you know about the Opera Ghost."

Buquet stared at him. "Anything specific you want to know?" he then asked. "For if I told you all I know, we would still be sitting here next week."

Raoul thought about it for a moment. "Where does he live?" he then asked. "Who is he in contact with? And, most importantly, how can we trap him?"

"Trap him?" Buquet laughed. "That won't be easy. I am sure Lefevre tried. That man is like a shadow, intangible."

"But you have seen him once?" Raoul asked. "At least I think that's what you told some ladies in the cafeteria a few weeks ago. I was sitting at a near-by table and overheard you."

"Aye," Buquet scratched his head. "That I said. And if somebody has seen him, that sure would be me. Nobody fools Joseph Buquet, Sir. Nobody crosses me either, and I do have some bill to be settled with this Ghost." He licked his lips as he thought of little Meg Giry that he had wanted to get to know in a more intimate way, when the Ghost had intervened.

Raoul grinned. "Then you are my man!" he told Buquet. "It won't be to your disadvantage if you help me get rid of him," he promised. "He is in my way, since I am sure he is the reason why the Daaé-slut is not giving me the time of day. But once he is out of the way..." A lascivious grin distorted his features.

Buquet laughed loud. "You have good taste, Sir," he told Raoul, grinning just as lasciviously as the Vicomte, "and I think you are right. The whore is most likely sleeping with that freak. How else did she get to sing Elyssa's part at the opening night of Hannibal, I ask you? Somebody must have dropped that piece of scenery on Carlotta to make her leave and it sure was not me. She must have some pretty perverted taste, though, if she can stomach such a lover." He elbowed Raoul. "I bet she likes it rough," he bellowed.

"Yes, yes," Raoul quickly interrupted him, "and I have some ideas how I can make things rough for her, but first we must get rid of the Ghost."

Buquet nodded. The idea of getting rid of the Phantom did appeal to him. If that creature were not there to protect Meg Giry any longer... The possibilities were endless. And if the Vicomte was willing to pay for his help in getting rid of the monster, the better.

"The question remains, how do we do it?" Raoul continued. "Obviously, I cannot do it alone, I need help."

"Then you have come to the right man," Buquet promised. "If somebody can help you fight that freak, it's Joseph Buquet." He suddenly remembered something. "Messieurs André and Firmin," he said, "they sure would be glad too, to be rid of him. Maybe they would be willing to give me a reward as well for helping remove that threat?" His eyes were gleaming with greed.

Raoul nodded. "Once we are rid of him I will make sure they understand what a pivotal role you played," he promised. "But first, we have to think of how we can best trap him."

Buquet thought for a while. "Maybe,..." he mumbled.

"What are you thinking of doing? Spit it out man!" the Vicomte demanded.

"In three days there will be the opening night of Il Muto," Buquet explained. "The Daaé woman will be playing the page boy. Granted, it's only a silent role, but she will be wearing man's clothes, her legs will show... " He grinned at the thought. "I bet her lover will want to see her like that, might turn him on for after the performance."

Raoul nodded. "You do have a point here," he said. "But I bet he is watching her in Hannibal every day as well, when she is wearing that skimpy slave girl outfit."

"Yeah, but he has his box to watch her," Buquet continued. "The one that is never sold, box 5. Have you not heard about that yet?"

Raoul shook his head. He had noticed that there were occasionally a few empty seats during performances and he was sure that box 5 was among those he remembered having seen empty, but he had not realized yet that box 5 was never being sold.

"Opening night is a big deal," Buquet continued. "Everybody wants to be there. The demand for tickets will be enormous. It would be a shame not to sell box 5 under these circumstances."

Raoul nodded. "I will purchase the box myself, if need be," he agreed. "But how will that help us?"

"Well..." Buquet thought about it. "If he cannot use his box as always, he will need to find another way to watch his paramour. Backstage is a good place to watch the performance, but he can't go there. Too many people are hanging around there, coming and going, waiting for their clues to go on stage, watching their colleagues who are currently on stage, seamstresses with thread and needle to help should any costume suffer during the performance, us scene shifters, the lights people, … No, he most certainly cannot watch from backstage. That only leaves one place, really..." He grinned an evil grin and looked upward to indicate what he meant.

Raoul whistled softly as understanding dawned. "The rafters," he murmured.

Buquet nodded. "The rafters," he confirmed. "And that's where good old Joseph Buquet will be waiting for him. With a sharp knife. Nobody knows their way around the rafters like I do," he boasted. "It will be easy."

Raoul grinned. That made sense to him. "If you succeed in … shall we say, neutralizing.. that fiend, I will pay you five thousand francs,"he promised, "and I will see to it that André and Firmin double that sum. There is a chance that the authorities will be willing to pay you a small reward as well for apprehending that criminal."

Buquet beamed. Money, lots of money, and finally a chance to corner tasty little Meg in a dark corridor and explore her rosy flesh in detail! He could not wait for this to happen. "Make sure box 5 is occupied, Sir," he told Raoul, "and let me see to the rest."

Raoul promised to take care of it. Now that he had a plan he could not wait to see it play out. He wished it were already opening night and the audience were entering the Opéra Populaire, milling about the foyer, rushing to their assigned seats...


	9. A Disaster Beyond Your Imagination

Hi everybody,

I am sorry for no update last week, but my laptop developed a life of its own this past week. First it wanted to be "refreshed" - which meant it took like forever till it started up again and then I had to reinstall most of my software. I did have a backup of everything, but of course I had to google to find out how I could reinstall my profile on the e-mail client, where my bookmarks had ended up etc. That was last Saturday. A few days later this same laptop that months ago had refused every single attempt to upgrade to Windows 8.1 informed me that Windows 8.1 had been downloaded and was ready to install. So I did install it (i.e. watching it again for half an eternity as it installed Windows 8.1). And yesterday it suddenly begged to allow it to install Windows 10, so I did...

Well, now I have Windows 10, which is not bad, but of course the little critter was useless most of last week, which is why I could not write the next chapter until now...

Thank you all for your patience, and thank you all for reading, putting on alert, adding to favorites, and most of all, for reviewing! It is you that keep me going!

Now on to the next chapter and to what some of you may have been expecting already...

Chapter 9 – A Disaster Beyond Your Imagination

Opening night of "Il Muto" finally arrived, and this time no incidents happened that might have kept Carlotta from singing. In a way Christine was sad that she would only be playing the page boy, and would not be able to use her voice, but then, the page boy was quite a good role too, she would be able to use her dancer's skills and she would be featured that way as well. Maybe it was even to her advantage that the audience would get a chance to see that she was not only an excellent singer, but an accomplished dancer and actress as well. It probably was all for the best.

Christine was really looking forward to the performance. Rehearsals had gone well, and she was sure that the new production would be a great success. Meg had a featured part as well, as one of the Countess' servants. It would be fun!

Her good mood did not last long, though. When she and Meg went to have breakfast at the cafeteria, they overheard people talking in hushed tones about the fact that the new patron had apparently bought box 5 for tonight for his friends and relatives. He had needed tickets for a larger group at the last minute and no other seats had remained unsold at that point. Supposedly the managers had been reluctant to sell him that particular box, but the amount of money he had been willing to pay had finally convinced them.

Christine paled. Box 5! That was Erik's box. The place from where he could watch the performances. He would not be able to use this box tonight. Was he aware of that fact? What if he tried to access the box and directly ran into the Vicomte and his party? She had to warn him!

Christine was upset. If Erik could not use his box, it also meant that he would not be able to watch her play the page boy tonight. This made her somewhat nervous. Knowing that Erik was close by, watching her, always made her more confident. If she had to perform without him, she would be way more uncertain of herself and it would show.

As soon as she had finished breakfast, she therefore went to see Mme. Giry and tell her what she had just learned. The ballet mistress was not too pleased with the news either. She agreed with Christine that it would be best to warn Erik that his box would be occupied tonight.

Together the two women made their way down to Erik's lair. Erik had not expected the ladies, but his joy at seeing them soon disappeared when he heard their news.

"That blasted Vicomte!" Erik exclaimed. "He is trying to provoke me! This is a challenge!"

"You cannot know that for sure, Erik," Mme. Giry tried to calm him. "It could have been an emergency of some kind, a group of friends deciding to spend a few days in Paris and only telling him at the last minute. Of course, tickets have been sold out for days, so box 5 would have been his only chance to make sure these friends of his can see the performance. It may not have been intended as a challenge."

"Be that as it may," Erik continued, "it will make it harder for me to watch Christine and your daughter tonight, Antoinette."

"It's just for one performance, Erik," Mme. Giry retorted. "The Vicomte only bought the box for tonight. Tomorrow, you will be able to watch the girls again, and I am sure they will be just as great then as they will be tonight."

"I am not going to stay away tonight," Erik growled. "He cannot make me. My box would be more comfortable, but the rafters will be fine, too."

He turned to Christine. "I know you are subject to attacks of stage fright when I am not there. Tonight is opening night, all the critics from the major newspapers will be there. You must be at your absolute best, charm them with your talent to express yourself even without words."

He smiled and took her into his arms. "Do you really think I do not notice how scared you are right now?" He cooed to her. "Calm down, my love, all will go well. I will be there with you the whole performance."

Christine nodded, still not convinced. "But is it not dangerous up there in the rafters?" she asked. "You could fall!"

"No, I won't," Erik assured her. "I know my way around up there. I've been in the rafters hundreds of times, it's really not too different from walking around in a maze." He grinned. "And I have watched rehearsals carefully. I have a pretty good idea when some piece of scenery will have to be moved and where the stagehand doing it will have to be in order to get the job done. I will be able to avoid them. Really, there won't be any danger." He kissed Christine on the forehead. "And as Antoinette has said, it will only be for tonight."

He finally managed to convince both ladies that they had no reason to be nervous, and Christine and Antoinette returned to their own rooms to get some rest before the performance.

Xxxx

In the evening, Erik dressed all in black and donned a black mask as well. That way it would be easier for him to blend in with the dark corners of the rafters and to go unnoticed by the stagehands. The place he thought best suited for watching was a small platform near the back right corner of the stage. From what he had learned while watching rehearsals, no scene shifter would need to access that particular platform or come anywhere near. Most of their work during this particular production could be done from a similar platform in the left corner, the rest from a catwalk closer to the front of the stage.

Erik had just made himself comfortable, when the performance began. The ouverture sounded a bit muffled from his place, since the curtain was still closed, but once it was raised, he could not complain about the acoustics. Really, this place was almost as good as box 5, if not quite as comfortable.

The first scene was over and it was time for a change of scenery. Erik looked over to the other platform, and noticed Guillaume Monniet working at the ropes. He frowned. That was odd. Buquet was the senior stagehand in charge of the rafters, Monniet only his assistant. Why would the managers let Monniet do the work on opening night, when everything had to be 110% perfect? Where was Buquet?

Erik shook his head. He would not let such a minor detail distract him from the performance, which was pretty good so far. Well, with the exception of Carlotta, of course. There was probably a very good reason for Buquet's absence. The man could be ill, for instance, or, more likely, too drunk to perform his duties, and Monniet was simply covering for him.

Erik leaned back once again and enjoyed the performance. Time flew by, they had already reached the third act, and the ballet was making its entrance. Erik stiffened. Had he heard something, footsteps? He shook his head. He must have been mistaken, there was nobody up here except for himself. Monniet would not be back for at least fifteen minutes. He had probably heard a dancer jump and mistaken that sound for footsteps up here.

He remained alert, though. It was possible, after all, that Monniet was coming back a bit earlier, that he might want to check something before he had to move the next set piece after the ballet and ensuing scene with the dancers and the Countess.

It was hard to concentrate on potential footsteps, though, with the music and the dancing and jumping going on down there on the stage. There seemed to be more footsteps a few minutes later, and when the music turned to pianissimo, as one of the dancers dressed as a shepherdess made slow, languid movements, Erik heard some breathing too, but it was not coming from the stage below, it was coming from his right. He turned and found himself face to face with Buquet. The stagehand was leering at Erik, and he held a sharp, long knife in his right hand.

Erik cursed inwardly. He should have seen this coming. This had been a set-up! Obviously the Vicomte was working with Buquet. He had bought the box so that Erik would be driven into the rafters, where Buquet would be waiting for him. But why? Why did the Vicomte want to get rid of him? Was it because, as the new patron, he wanted the theater freed from the mysterious ghost, or had the Vicomte guessed his relationship with Christine? There was no time to think, though, since Buquet threatened him with his knife.

"You thought you were so clever, Ghost!" Buquet hissed at him. "Now you will pay for having prevented me from having fun with the Giry girl! And once I'm done with you, I'll have her anyway. Maybe the other slut, too, the Daaé-girl, once the Vicomte has had his way with her."

Erik quickly assessed the situation. If he could get past Buquet, he could climb up a rope that was leading to the uppermost catwalk, and from there he could reach a hidden door that lead to the secret corridors only he knew. He was fairly certain that Buquet would not be too quick, if he followed him up the rope. He should be able to escape him then. But he had to get past him and to the rope first.

Erik watched Buquet closely. Whatever that man had planned he would have to do it within the next minute or two, for now the orchestra was rising to the final crescendo and the dance was getting ever more frenetic. If the two men up in the rafters caused any noise now, the audience would not be able to hear it over the music and the dancers' stomping feet.

Buquet made a sudden move, and Erik raised his arm to parry, while at the same time charging forward, past his attacker, towards the rope. A sharp pain hit him, as Buquet's knife cut into his upper right arm. Erik clenched his teeth, realizing too late that Buquet had feinted and moved his knife at the last possible moment to reach its goal. There was no time to pay attention to the pain now, though. He had to reach the door on the upper catwalk and get himself to safety.

Erik grasped the rope and began the ascent. A wave of pain shot through him as he used his injured arm to pull himself up, but he ignored it. He would see to his injury later, now it was of the utmost importance to get away from Buquet.

It barely registered with Erik that Buquet had been knocked down from the double impact of hitting Erik with the knife and being shoved aside by Erik. Buquet hurt his knee badly in the fall, but he was not about to let his prey escape. Too much depended on it, the money the Vicomte had promised him, the chance of becoming a hero, and little Meg naked, fighting him all the way, while he ravaged here delicious body.

Buquet picked himself up from the platform as well and reached for the dangling rope. He was not a good climber, and his knee was giving him troubles as well. He would not give up, though, his opponent was injured, too, he had seen the blood on his knife, the odds should still be fairly even. He still had a chance.

Erik finally reached the end of the rope and swung himself up onto the catwalk. That sudden movement combined with the removal of his own weight from the rope caused the rope to swing erratically, and Buquet, who was not prepared for such a movement, lost his footing and fell. A scream rising from a thousand throats reached Erik as he slipped through the secret door.

He cursed. He had wanted to avoid hurting Buquet, he had just tried to escape, but it seemed as if his attacker had fallen to his death now, and who would be blamed for this accident? No other than the mysterious Opera Ghost!

He would have to leave the Opéra Populaire now, probably Paris as well, for nobody would believe him that he had not killed Buquet, that it had been an accident. He would have to leave Christine!

Erik did not want to think about leaving Christine. He ran and ran, he had to reach his home, he had to see to his wound, grab some money and go into hiding.

Xxxx

Everybody was screaming, and so was Christine. She had seen the body tumble down onto the stage, she had heard the fall, and for one dreadful moment she had thought it was Erik that had plunged to his death. Then she realized that the victim could not be Erik, the man that had fallen to his death was heavier set, not as slender as her Angel. But still, Erik might be somehow connected to this terrible incident, for he had been up in the rafters as well.

"Mme. Giry!" Christine screamed, when she saw her foster mother coming towards her.

"Shh," the older woman silenced her. "Not here!" The ballet mistress dragged Christine away from the stage where now a doctor had arrived to determine Buquet's death. Once they had reached the corridor leading to Christine's dressing room, Christine whispered, "Erik?"

"I know," Mme. Giry replied. "We will try to find him." They quickly slipped into Christine's dressing room, locked the door from the inside and disappeared through the mirror.

They reached Erik's home only moments after Erik himself. He had already taken off his cloak and jacket and was about to remove his shirt in order to inspect the cut in his arm.

"You are bleeding!" Christine exclaimed, pale like a freshly painted wall. "What happened?"

"It was a trap!" Erik hissed, "that blasted Vicomte! He sent Buquet to assassinate me!"

Mme. Giry remained calm. "Sit down, Erik," she commanded, "and let me dress your wound, and while I do so, you can tell us what happened, how Buquet suddenly plunged to his death and you ended up with a nasty, heavily bleeding knife wound."

Erik did as he was told and sat down. Christine blushed as he removed his shirt so that Mme. Giry could work on his wound. It was not really appropriate for her to see Erik's bare torso, but she had to admit that the sight excited her.

Erik then began his story of how he had been surprised to find Monniet up in the rafters instead of Buquet, and how Buquet apparently had asked his assistant to step in for him, so that he would be free to spy on Erik. How Buquet had attacked at the moment when nobody would pay attention to the rafters due to the loud music and stomping feet of the dancers during the rousing finale of the ballet number.

"He ha a knife," Erik continued, "it was all planned. And I was unarmed. I only could try to escape, which is what I did. But he followed me up the rope, and when I reached the platform and the rope swung out because of my sudden movement, he must have dropped. It was an accident, it was not my fault, I swear it to you! I did not want to harm him!"

Mme. Giry squeezed his shoulder to calm him. "We know that, Erik," she said. "And we believe you. I know that you promised your Persian friend not to kill a man ever again. But what of the rest of Paris? Will they believe you? Erik, you are at risk, if you remain here. You need to get yourself to safety now."

Erik sighed. "I have figured out already that I will have to leave Paris," he said flatly, looking at Christine in desperation. He would have to leave her, to be separated from her, and he had no idea, how long it would take before he could see her again.

Christine's eyes widened in shock. "Leave Paris?" she asked. "Do you really have to do that? Can I come with you?"

Erik shook his head. "The Vicomte will most probably blame me for Buquet's accident, he will make it sound as if I had attacked Buquet up in the rafters for whatever reason. He will say the knife, which undoubtedly will be found sooner or later, was mine. That means, I am a wanted man in France, charged with murder. If I get caught on my way to the frontier..."

He did not have to finish the sentence. The two ladies understood him anyway.

"You therefore have to stay here, my love," Erik continued, his good hand reaching out for Christine's, entwining their fingers. "With Mme. Giry and Meg. They will protect you until I have found a new home and can ask you to follow me."

He looked at Mme. Giry. "All of you, Antoinette. Once I have a home and make my own living, you and Meg will come as well. I want us all to be together."

Mme. Giry nodded. But now was not the time to talk about the distant future. "Where are you planning to go, Erik?" she asked.

"I got a letter from Nadir last week," Erik explained. "He has arrived in London, and he thinks this might be a good place for me. There are lots of smaller theaters there, some of them might even be in need of renovating, maybe if he acted as my front man I could find employment at one of these..."

"That sounds like a good plan,"Mme. Giry agreed. Then she turned to the situation at hand. "How do you feel?" She asked Erik. "You lost a lot of blood, will you be able to leave right away?"

"I must," Erik explained. "I will take César. If I use the Rue Scribe exit now, I can possibly slip away. They have probably not yet discovered that there is a connection between the Opéra Populaire and Rue Scribe two blocks away."

He looked at Christine. "Will you wait for me, my love? I will try my best to get settled in London and to make a home for us, but it might take a few months, maybe years. Will you not forget me in such a long time?"

"Never!" Christine threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Kiss me, Erik," she begged. "Kiss me once again. It might be a long time till our next kiss, but I am yours, and only yours, now and always."

Their kiss seemed endless, neither of them wanted to break contact, but finally they had to let go. "I'll write, as soon as I have reached Nadir," Erik promised, then he went to retrieve his horse César.

Mme. Giry turned to Christine. "Come," she urged her, "we must return as well, they will probably already wonder where we are..."


	10. To Ensnare Our Clever Friend

Hi everybody,

I know, I am a day late, but at least there *is* an update this week! Thank you all for your patience with my irregular updates, for reading, for adding to favorites, putting on alert, and, most of all, for reviewing! From now on the story will deviate even further from canon and the conflict will show more. I hope you will enjoy that part as well!

Anyway, here is the new chapter, and keep in mind that I do not own those characters...

Chapter 10 – To Ensnare Our Clever Friend

As soon as Christine and Mme. Giry had made their way back to Christine's dressing room, they heard voices out in the hallway.

"Mademoiselle Daaé, let us in!" Firmin called. "The performance needs to go on!"

Mme. Giry pointed towards the settee in the corner. "Quick, Christine," she whispered, "lie down, pretend that you are close to fainting from shock!"

Christine slumped down on the sofa. She did not have to act. She was worried sick about Erik and therefore pale and shaking. It would not be hard to make the managers believe that she was under shock. As soon as Christine had settled down, Mme. Giry approached the door and unlocked it.

"Quiet, Monsieur Firmin," she told the manager, as the tall man burst into the room, his shorter partner and the Vicomte in tow. "This … incident was a big shock for Christine!"

"For all of us," Monsieur André informed her, nervously wiping cold sweat from his forehead with a huge handkerchief. "But we need to finish the performance or we'll have to reimburse every single attendee, and Carlotta is, well,... she suffered a nervous breakdown and therefore ..." He looked at Christine meaningfully.

"Me?" Christine whispered. "You want me to... to sing... now?"

Raoul knelt down in front of the settee and pulled his arms around her. "My poor darling," he cooed. "I know we are asking a lot, but it would mean so much to all of us..."

Christine looked over to Mme. Giry for guidance. She did not feel up to singing right now, but could she refuse the managers when so much money was at stake?

Almost imperceptibly, Mme. Giry nodded. "I... I will try,"Christine therefore promised. "I will not be very good, though," she added, "after what has happened..."

"We know that, Little Lotte," Raoul reassured her. "But as long as you manage not to be worse than the rest of the ensemble, you should be fine. After all, everybody is a bit on edge after what has happened tonight."

Christine rose to her feet, shaking off Raoul's arms. "If I have to sing, I will have to change," she informed the managers. "If you would leave me and Mme. Giry alone now and have the costume of the Countess sent to us."

The three men quickly left the dressing room. Once they were gone, Christine faced her foster mother. "Why?" she asked. "Why did you want me to perform? I will hardly be able to get one single note out!"

"You must!" Mme. Giry told her. "Think of Erik. He needs time to get away. As long as there will be a performance, they cannot investigate Buquet's death. Right now, the Vicomte may suspect whatever he wants, but there is no proof that it was anything but an accident. Once the knife will be found, though, and maybe traces of Erik's blood, it will be clear that a second man was involved, and that's when they will start looking for that other man. Therefore you must sing, to stall investigations for as long as possible."

Christine paled even more. "I had not thought about that" she mumbled, "but you are right. I have to do this."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. One of the seamstresses appeared with the gown the Countess should be wearing in the fourth and final act. "I know we have to finish act three first," she said apologetically, "but Madame Carlotta is still wearing that costume, and she is in no condition..."

"This will do nicely," Mme. Giry reassured the woman. "Especially since the audience won't know anyway, that this is the wrong dress for the upcoming scene. Now take these," she pointed at the page's clothes that Christine had taken off in the meantime, "and give them to my daughter, for if Christine is playing the part of the Countess, Meg will have to step in as the page boy."

The next hour or so was a nightmare for Christine. She had to go back on stage and perform in a comedy, while she was worried sick about Erik and deeply depressed at the thought that she might not be seeing him again in a very long time. She was relieved that the two major solo numbers of the Countess had already been in the first two acts. She now only had minor scenes, and of course the final duet with the Count, where the couple made up and both promised to be faithful from now on.

"For you, my Angel," Christine thought, when she opened her mouth to sing the first phrase. She knew it was less than perfect, and that Erik would have a lot to criticize if he were here, but to her relief, she was able to sing at all. "I need to get through this," she kept reminding herself, "I need to buy Erik some time." And she forced herself not to think of the fact that Erik was gone, but to focus on her role instead.

Christine was not the only one who had a hard time concentrating on the performance, though. Pretty much every musician, singer and dancer faced the same problem. Once or twice a false note crept in, somebody was a beat late or early on occasion, but somehow they got through the remaining scenes.

The audience did not seem to notice the imperfections and showered the performers with applause at the end. They were all thrilled at having been witnesses to such a scandalous performance. They had not really paid much attention to the stage after "the accident", most of them already thinking about how they would describe their experience to their friends and acquaintances the next day.

Xxxx

After the performance, a group of policemen was sent up into the rafters to investigate the death of Buquet. Of course they all knew about the rumors that a phantom or ghost of some kind was haunting the Opéra Populaire, who might have caused the death of the scene-shifter, but to them the case looked more like an accident, or maybe even suicide. After all, preliminary interrogations had yielded the result that the dead man had been the senior stagehand in charge of the rafters. It was therefore clear that he had been doing his job up there. He might have slipped and fallen to his death. This explanation seemed the most likely, especially since several colleagues of the dead man had told the police that he liked to drink.

The two policemen that were chosen to go up into the rafters therefore were anything but motivated, until Monniet, who was to show them around, informed them that he had no idea why Buquet had even been up there in the first place. Buquet had not been feeling well in the afternoon, he explained, he had asked him to step in for him tonight, which he had done.

Chief Inspector Barieux frowned. "You were up there?" he asked. "So you must have seen what was going on?"

Monniet shook his head. "No, Monsieur l'Inspecteur," he explained. "There was a long scene that did not require any work on my part. We never stay up the whole performance. At least not out on the catwalks. We go back in, when we are not needed. The ballet was still going on, and it is followed by a lengthy scene with the Countess thanking the dancers and them presenting flowers to her that the page boy collects, while her ladies are expressing their delight at the entertainment. I would not have had to move any piece of scenery for another ten to fifteen minutes."

The Inspector did not seem convinced. The fact that Buquet had had no business up there after all, did change the situation, though. An accident did now seem less likely and a thorough investigation of the crime scene was necessary.

Monniet therefore took the two policemen that had no problems with heights up to the rafters. After he showed them where he would have had to be in order to move the set pieces for that particular production, he also explained the layout of the rafters in general to them and gave them a tour of the place. Once they reached the platform from which Erik had been watching the performance, Buquet's bloody knife and some dark spots that suspiciously looked like blood stains were discovered.

"It is clear that a fight has taken place," the two men reported to the Chief Inspector. "One of them had a knife and obviously used it on his opponent, the second man may or may not have shoved Buquet to his death."

Since it soon became clear that none of the Opéra Populaire's employees had sustained a knife wound, it was therefore likely that no other than the mysterious Opera Ghost must have been the one that made Buquet plunge to his death.

"I am sure he is a man," the Vicomte confirmed the police's suspicion. "After all, he sends notes to the managers, too, and he asks for a salary, which is proof enough that it is not a ghost, but a real person. Whether he had an ax to grind with Buquet or just wanted to demonstrate his power, I cannot say, but it is clear that he must be caught. That man is dangerous!"

The Inspector was not so easily convinced. After all, it seemed as if Buquet had been the one with the knife. The body had sustained many injuries from the fall, but there definitely was no knife wound. The injured man must therefore be the other one, the one that had gotten away. Of course it was still possible that he had shoved Buquet to his death, but had that been murderous intention or self-defense?

"The evidence is inconclusive," Barieux therefore informed the managers and Raoul. "It could have been self-defense. Of course it would be great, if whoever it was that was up there with Buquet stepped forward and told us what really has happened. But I can see, why such a person would be reluctant to do so."

Raoul seethed. Not enough that his great plan to get rid of the Phantom had not succeeded and had cost his ally his life, now that dolt of an officer also refused to issue a warrant for that ugly monster!

"I will hold you personally responsible for any future crimes at this theater!" he screamed at the Inspector. "We are all in danger as long as such a murderous individual is on the loose!"

"I will keep a few gendarmes posted at the Populaire for the next few weeks," the Inspector finally gave in. "Not because I think it may be necessary, but just to be on the safe side." With these words he closed the case on the death of Buquet.

Xxxx

Of course the incident during the opening night of "Il Muto" was the main topic in the newspapers and the parlors of the nobility for the next few weeks. But soon other things happened that caught the public interest and Buquet was forgotten. Not at the Opéra Populaire, though.

The days following the incident, Christine seemed a bit subdued to Raoul. She tried to hide it and pretended to be as carefree and happy as always. There was something at the bottom of her eyes though, that betrayed her true feelings. Raoul knew her well enough to notice this and he suspected that her state of mind must have something to do with the "Buquet-incident". He had no doubts that the man Buquet had been fighting with in the rafters had been the Phantom, and thus Christine's teacher and his rival. It was also clear from the blood stains on the platform that he had been injured during the fight. Was maybe his injury more serious than Raoul suspected? Was Christine worried about her lover?

Days turned into weeks and soon it became obvious that the Phantom was not bothering anybody with his notes anymore. That could mean only one of two things: either he was too sick to write such notes, maybe even dead, or he had left the Opéra Populaire for good.

Raoul began to observe Christine more closely, and about two weeks after the accident, he noticed a certain change in her. She was still more subdued than usually, but her eyes did not look as haunted anymore. There was a hopeful glimmer in them. Raoul thought he knew what this meant: either the fiend was recovering from his injury and would soon be well enough to continue his shenanigans, or, if he had left, then Christine had somehow received word from him.

Raoul grinned. He would soon know which of the two possibilities it was. He went to see the two managers.

"Correct me if I am wrong," he began, "but I understand that all the incoming mail goes through your hands, Messieurs. That is, if one of your employees, living in the dormitories, were to receive a letter from a relative or friend, it would end up on your desk first, am I correct?"

André sighed. "Yes, that is correct. I wish there were an easier way, though, it usually takes us half an hour every day to sort through all that mail and have it then delivered to the employees' personal mailboxes."

"That may be a problem under normal circumstances," Raoul said, grinning. "But it could play into our hands right now. Since nobody has received any notes from our friend, the Ghost, since Buquet's untimely death, I suspect that the criminal has gone into hiding. He may even have left Paris. The Chief Inspector is not helping us any, but..."

Raoul paused for emphasis. "We may have another way of finding out what is going on, and where that monster has gone. Mme. Giry has been rumored to be in contact with him. After all, she did deliver some of his notes on occasion. It is therefore possible that he will contact her. Or, maybe, contact her through one of her two girls, her daughter Meg and her surrogate daughter Christine Daaé. I must therefore ask you to pass any correspondence either one of the three should receive, to me. If it has nothing to do with our problem, I will then make sure that the recipient gets her letter. If not..."

Firmin and André looked at each other, uncertain. "That would be a breach of privacy of correspondence," Firmin weakly objected.

"Not quite," Raoul reassured him. "Remember we are in the middle of an investigation. We need to collect evidence. And I am not asking you to read their letters, only to let me see them first. If there should be any problem, I will be the one shouldering the blame. You will not be held responsible for any consequences, should the ladies notice that their letters have been manipulated."

Firmin looked at André, who shrugged uneasily. Firmin thought about it for a few more minutes and finally nodded. "I will do it," he promised, "but only if you guarantee that we will not have to face charges for doing so."

"Of course not," Raoul told them, glad he had reached his goal. "You are not doing anything dishonorable, you are only helping to get justice for Buquet." He gave them his most charming smile, then added, almost as an afterthought, "the same goes for the outgoing mail of these three ladies. It is possible that they have already been contacted by our opponent and will write to him on their own..."

Firmin and André nodded. That was a bit more difficult, but could be arranged as well. Employees usually dropped off their outgoing mail in some kind of letterbox in the cafeteria, and it was then taken to the post office together with their own official correspondence once a day.

Xxxx

Christine was sitting in Mme. Giry's private parlor. She was holding a piece of paper that her foster mother had secretly passed to her earlier that day, rereading it for the umpteenth time.

"A black stallion and an exhausted, slightly feverish man have safely arrived here," Erik's friend Nadir had written. "The horse is in better shape than the man, but the latter will be as good as new as well after a few days of rest, don't worry. He will write to you soon. In the meantime I am investigating possibilities of employment for our friend. London is a city of theaters, there are many smaller venues here, some of which seem in dire need of an artistic director with the expertise of our acquaintance. Maybe we will know more in a few weeks."

Christine looked up from the note. "Do you believe that Erik will be fine?" she asked, for at least the tenth time. "Is this Monsieur Khan not just trying to sound reassuring?"

"Erik is tough," Mme. Giry replied. "I am sure he will be fine. I am not surprised he is a bit weak at the moment. After all, he had lost a lot of blood, and he had to leave at once, without getting proper rest. But now that he has safely reached his destination and is with his friend, who can take care of him, I am sure he will make a full recovery."

Christine nodded. She was not totally convinced. But at least she knew now that Erik had been able to leave France. He was safe for the moment.

"How about Erik's chances at employment?" Christine asked a while later, after re-reading the letter yet again. "How realistic do you think those are? Will anybody at a theater in London hire my Angel?"

Mme. Giry sighed. "I honestly do not know," she confessed. "But there might be possibilities. I refuse to believe that somebody as talented as our Erik will not be able to find a job. There must be somebody who can overlook his face and appreciate him for his knowledge and expertise. We just have to be patient and give him time to find this person, this employer that will hire him despite his face."


	11. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

Hi everybody,

I am sorry that there was no update last week. Things were just getting too crazy and I did not get around to writing a new chapter. But it is here now! Thank you all for still sticking with me, for reading, for putting on alert, for adding to favorites, and most of all, for reviewing!

As to my anonymous reviewer "Guest": I know that there have been several stories where Erik and Christine were separated, but there have also been several, where they were pretty much together for most of the story, like e.g. "Guide and Guardian", "Love that You'll Regret", "Black Despair" or even ""When We've Said Goodbye". In fact, there are only two possibilities of writing a story: either they are together, or they are apart. So you cannot help avoiding being repetitive in this particular regard. One can make the stories different in every other aspect, though, and I hope that my stories have delivered in that regard so far.

Now let's see how our couple is dealing with the separation, and keep in mind that I do not own those characters!

Chapter 11 – Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

"My dearest Angel," Raoul read. "Your friend has informed us that you have safely arrived. We are still a bit worried about you, though. Surely your trip must have been exhausting, because of your injury. I hope you are on the way to recovery now! Mme. Giry assures me that you are tough and that such a relatively minor injury should not cause you too much trouble, but I worry nevertheless. In my mind I see you in front of me like you were that last night, pale, in pain, your arm all bloody, and I wish I could be with you, take care of you, nurse you back to health, give you strength through my love..."

"Ewww!" Raoul felt like puking as he read Christine's letter to his rival, that M. Firmin had delivered to him about an hour ago. It had not been difficult to open it carefully by passing the envelope over the steam rising from a kettle full of boiling water. Having to stomach all those sweet words of love, Christine's concern for that monster, was something else, though.

Of course Raoul had suspected all along, that this ghost-person was not only Christine's mysterious teacher, but also his rival, the man she truly wanted. But so far this had only been a suspicion, not quite unfounded maybe, but still that, a theory. Now he had proof. Now he could not doubt any longer that Christine's heart belonged to another man, and one widely inferior to him, to boot. How could she even consider loving somebody like that phantom, an ugly, deformed person, shunned by society, forced into hiding, a wanted man and criminal, when he, the Vicomte de Chagny, patron of the arts, a rich, honorable, handsome, titled, respected man showed an interest in her? How could she dare insult him so by preferring that creature over him?

Raoul's anger rose. "She will pay for that," he swore to himself. "I will not rest until I have made her mine."

For a moment he thought about what to do with the letter. What if that freak never got it, what if he thought Christine had given up on him after his latest crime of killing Buquet? Wouldn't that drive a wedge between the lovers? Would the fiend then abandon Christine as well, and he himself could step in and comfort the heartbroken girl?

In the end Raoul decided to reseal the letter and to post it. After all, the letter was going to London. His rival was out of the way for now. It was unlikely that Christine would see him anytime soon and could talk to him. Maybe the separation alone would be enough to drive the couple apart. And if not, he could still take more drastic measures later. After all, if the very first letter Christine wrote to her beloved never reached its destination, wouldn't that cause some suspicions? Wasn't it better to give them the feeling that everything was fine, that they could safely communicate, before he would make his move and strike out against them?

Raoul had a feeling that it was best to lie low for the time being and to wait, while still courting Christine. Maybe with her lover gone, she would be more susceptible to his own charms, and if not... Sooner or later the perfect opportunity would present itself, he only had to be patient. At least he knew now where his rival was. That was a very important piece of information, the first step in the right direction. As for the rest, time would tell...

Xxxxx

Christine was anxious. The day before she had sent her first letter to Erik and now she was nervously waiting for his reply. She knew that it would be days before she could expect an answer, and yet... A day had never before seemed that long! And there would be several more days, endless like this one, before she would hold Erik's letter in her hands, before she could read his words of love and imagine him actually saying them to her in his beautiful, deep voice.

How she missed him! They had been together every day for years, even when she had still thought of him as an angel, they had talked at least once a day, and now... Now she had to live without him for the first time in approximately ten years, without his guidance, without his wit, his humor, his soothing voice, his council, his... his arms around her and his lips on hers. How was she supposed to go on like that?

She wondered if Erik was missing her just as much. Or was he too preoccupied with his new situation, with the fact that he had to find a niche for himself in a foreign city, where people probably were just as prejudiced against him as here in Paris? And he had promised her to find employment there and make a home for them so that she could one day follow him. Maybe he had so much on his mind that he could not think of her as much as she thought of him?

In a few days she might know. Assuming Erik would reply to her letter immediately. Assuming he was strong enough by then to write. Christine still was worried about Erik's injury. The fact that Nadir had mentioned that Erik had been slightly feverish when he arrived in London made her nervous. What if the wound had gotten infected? What if Erik's condition was more serious than Nadir had let them know?

"My dear, don't worry so much!" Mme. Giry lovingly put an arm around Christine's shoulders. "You will see, he will be fine. And I know he misses you every bit as much as you miss him. He loves you so very deeply. You will see, once we get a letter from Erik, it will be nothing but his deepest feelings for you. He will barely even think about me and Meg, all he will be talking about is you and your love and his desire to be reunited with you as soon as possible."

Christine nodded, trying to be brave. "But how can we be reunited?" she asked. "Erik is probably still too weak to look for work. And even if he is looking right now, will he be able to find something? Will he be able to earn his living like other men do? Will those English people be more willing to hire him despite... " She broke down sobbing.

"I am sure he will find a way," Mme. Giry reassured her. "He is resourceful and intelligent. I do not know his friend personally, but from what I have heard about him, he, too, is a man with lots of good ideas. Together they will find a way. Especially since Erik will be highly motivated to do so, knowing that this will be his best chance of being reunited with you soon."

Christine forced a weak smile. "I wish I could do something," she confessed. "Erik and his friend can make plans how to best find employment for him. They can check out opportunities, make inquiries. All we can do is sit and wait and hope for the best."

"And let him know that you love him, have faith in him, think of him every minute of every day and are looking forward to being with him again," Mme. Giry reminded her. "That is a whole lot you can do for him, and I am sure it will help him more than anything to know that you are waiting for him, his faithful bride."

Christine took a deep breath. "I had not thought about it that way," she admitted. "But I see now how this can help, too. And I will give Erik all my support, make sure he never doubts my love!"

Xxxx

Across the Channel, in the parlor of a small house at the outskirts of London, Nadir was trying to give his friend a pep-talk. Erik was in a gloomy mood. His wound had mostly healed, but the injured muscle still hurt at certain movements, and thus hindered him at his attempts to create a more life-like mask, which in Erik's opinion was the first thing he needed to do, before he even could think about looking for work.

"Erik, don't take it so hard," Nadir said, "such things take time. You should rest your arm more, then you will most likely regain full use of it more quickly. I do understand that you miss Mademoiselle Daaé, and I am sure she misses you just as much." He closed his eyes at the memory of a raven-haired beauty with passionate dark eyes, his beloved wife Rokhaya, who had died giving birth to their son Reza. She had been dead for several decades now and yet, not one day had passed since her demise that he had not thought of her with longing, missed her.

"But you are both alive, and still fairly young, even you, my friend," he smiled at Erik, who had been about to interrupt him. "There is a good chance that the two of you will eventually be together again. There is hope for the two of you! Focus on that! Be patient with your arm, don't over-exert it, give it time to heal. As long as that injury gives you trouble you won't be able to work anyway. But we can use that time of healing to think about what you could do. We could keep our eyes and ears open and find out where somebody with your unique and considerable abilities could be needed."

Erik sighed. "Patience, patience, patience!" he yelled. "Do you really think I have all the time in the world? Have you forgotten what I look like and who I am? Don't you realize that I know that Christine could do so much better than marrying me? Have you forgotten that there is a highly desirable, handsome, rich, young, titled patron hovering around her? What if now that I am gone and she won't be seeing me in a very long time, she feels lonely and abandoned and falls for the charms of this scoundrel? Or for some other nice, perfectly honorable boy? What if it takes me too long to secure a future for the two of us, and Christine will give up on me and find some other suitor?"

"Is your trust in her so weak?" Nadir countered. "I thought you loved her. In that case you also have to trust her and have faith in her. From what you have told me, it seems to me that her love is genuine, in which case you can rely on her fidelity."

"I know," Erik admitted. "It is just so hard to believe she will remain faithful if the wait is too long. I... you know how the world has treated me. My experiences have not been the best. I have been disappointed by people so many times, I could not take another blow, especially one as huge as this would be. If Christine... if she left me now, I do not think I would survive it!"

Nadir squeezed Erik's shoulder reassuringly. "Why do you always remember your bad experiences?" he asked softly. "Haven't you had some positive ones, too? Correct me if I am wrong, but have I ever disappointed you? Has your friend Antoinette ever withheld her support from you? Is it therefore so inconceivable that your Christine might be just like us, like me and Antoinette, loyal to you no matter what? Especially since it is your friend Antoinette that has raised her and has most likely taught the girl her own values."

Erik took a deep breath. "I know that there is some truth to your words, Nadir," he finally admitted. "It is just so hard to sit idly and wait until my arm is fully healed."

"Who said you should sit idly?" Nadir asked. "Did I not just mention that we should make plans, try to figure out what kind of work you would be most interested in and exploring opportunities in those areas?"

Erik sighed. "You know pretty well what I would like to do," he snapped. "A theater, preferably an opera house. I would love to run such a place, to choose which works to be performed, to hire the people I think most suited to the task, to design the sets and costumes, on occasion maybe compose a piece, in short, to make all the artistic decisions of such an establishment." He laughed a bitter laugh. "But you know just as well as I do, that with a face like mine, that is not the kind of career I can hope for. Maybe they'll give me a job as a coal miner, or maybe I could work in the docks, loading and unloading boats. And that would already be considered luck, give my..." He once again pointed at his face.

Nadir sighed. "An opera house," he mumbled. "That might indeed not be easy. But there are dozens of smaller venues in the theater district of the city, some of which perform operas quite often. Maybe if we find one that is currently struggling for survival, or whose owner is indebted and needs to increase his income in order to pay back his debts or something... I will just have to investigate."

He grinned. "Have you forgotten that I was daroga back home? A valued police officer? Surely you know that I do have some talent in finding out things? Or do you think I have gotten rusty in my old days and forgotten how to work my trade?"

Xxxx

A few days later, Nadir returned home with what he thought were exciting news. "I think I found it!" he exclaimed. "Erik, I think, I found your chance! As you know, I was out last night in the theater district, hanging around the bars and pubs, where performers and theater workers might go once the play is over." He pulled a face at the thought of people there consuming alcohol, and the kind of strange views he always got when he asked for water with his sandwich or whatever food he ordered.

"Anyway, there was talk at the pub about a small theater having changed ownership recently. It is called "The Music House", and it is located just round the corner from Piccadilly Circus. Supposedly the previous owner was too old to run a theater and thus made some pretty stupid decisions. Or rather, did not make the right ones, like repairing the roof, etc. The little place is therefore in rather bad shape and needs some renovation. The new owner does not seem to have much expertise in running a theater, either. There is talk that he bought it mainly so that his daughter, who loves music and opera, could have a theater of her own, where he can put on the performances she would like to see. From what I've heard, the girl is the apple of his eye and he fulfills her every wish. Now think about it, Erik! A man that wants to make his child happy at any cost! Who is willing to buy a whole theater for her! He cannot risk failing in this job, for which he is not suited at all. He supposedly is a rich merchant, with zero experience in the areas of theater, music, arts. He will need an artistic adviser, unless he wants this endeavor to be doomed from the beginning. He might be willing to hire anybody, and I mean _anybody_ , who will be able to turn this investment into a success. Granted, the daughter might be a pain in the posterior, if she is as spoiled, as she must be, if the father buys her a theater, but if we could arrange it that you would only have to deal with him..."

Erik snorted. "Even if he is desperate to find a capable artistic adviser, what makes you think he will hire me? Surely there are other qualified people around that will apply for the job, people that he can actually look at without wanting to throw up."

Nadir shook his head. "Don't interrupt me, Erik," he scolded his friend. "I was coming to that part. As I just said, I had heard about this situation already last night. So I went out this morning to collect some more information. I actually saw "The Music House". It is a neat little building, but there is no chance it can be profitable any time soon. It is in dire need of renovations. Right now they only have a very limited ensemble, only a handful of musicians, two or three very average dancers, and a few singers, not enough to form a decent chorus, and those that are doing the solo parts are barely adequate for the choir. True, Mr. Stanton, the new owner, is supposedly rich and will be able to pay for renovation and he will be able to hire enough talent, but still, the situation at the moment is rather bleak. He will not find any qualified person to help him run this theater under these circumstances. Maybe in a few months, once the renovation is complete. But by then he should already have hired his performers, he should already have decided on a piece to perform, sets should already be built and rehearsals more or less complete, so that the moment the theater is in good shape, he can reopen it. Otherwise he would lose too much money, if after renovations are complete he has to wait another few months, preparing his first production. That's why Mr. Stanton needs an artistic adviser now, but cannot get one now."

Erik sighed. "That still does not help, if he does not want to give me a chance because of... this." He pointed to his face.

Nadir nodded. "True," he said. "Except I talked to him today. I told him about my friend who has all the necessary expertise, but does not stand a chance to find work because of his handicap. He said he can't afford the luxury of being picky, if my friend is as good as I said, he might be willing to give him a try." He smiled at Erik. "He wants to see you, Erik," he said. "Tomorrow afternoon. At five. It will be dark enough then that you can go out."


	12. Can You Deny Us The Triumph In Store?

Hi everybody,

I m sorry for the lack of update last week and the delay this week. I hope a severe cold is enough of an excuse for being late? Thank you everybody for sticking with me despite my infrequent updates, for reading, for putting on alert, adding to favorites, and most of all, for reviewing! I really do not know what I would do without you!

Anyway, here is the much anticipated (at least I hope so!) next chapter, and keep in mind that I do not own these characters... Sadly.

Chapter 12 – Can You Deny Us The Triumph In Store?

Raoul once again nervously fumbled with a letter over a steaming kettle. He was not too interested in reading yet another of those sugary sweet declarations of love that Christine and her criminal teacher-turned-lover were exchanging. The first letter he had intercepted had been one from Christine to this Erik, in which she told him how much she missed him and how worried she was because of his injured arm. A few days later Erik had answered, telling her how relieved he was to hear from her and to get a reassurance of her love, now that she was so far away, and how he feared that she might meet other men, more worthy of her.

Raoul grinned at the memory of reading those lines. That deformed monster really seemed to have low self-esteem. The guy probably knew how revolting he looked and therefore had no illusions about the way the fairer sex perceived him, and as a consequence he doubted the sincerity of Christine's love. That was some very important information. It would probably not be too difficult to convince him that Christine had abandoned him. Not right now, of course, but after a suitable period of time, a few weeks maybe, or a couple months. Yes, Raoul would have to make sure this beast thought Christine had left him for another suitor...

Christine had answered this letter full of insecurity with yet another declaration of her undying love, had assured this Erik, who she sometimes called her "Angel", of her fidelity, repeating over and over again how much she missed him and how much she wished he could be with her.

The letter Raoul was now about to open was Erik's reply. Raoul was not really looking forward to reading it. Those letters between the two lovers always depressed him and made him angry. How could Christine prefer such a disgusting person to himself? What was it about such a hideous creature that attracted her, especially since that freak had next to no self-esteem and thus probably little personality and presence?

Raoul carefully extracted the letterhead from the now open envelope and began to read. Sure enough, the letter once again started with words of love, of relief that Christine still thought of him and similar romantic stuff that made Raoul puke. That _thing_ even mentioned that he kept remembering their last kiss and that it was that memory what gave him strength and hope for a better future.

Then Raoul's eyes widened. He had to reread the paragraph in order to make sure he had understood it correctly. Had that creature really written that he was going to meet the owner of a theater in the hope of finding employment there?

Raoul laughed. What an utterly ridiculous thought! Surely that freak must be mad. Delusional at least. A theater was a place of the arts, an ideal place that inspired beauty, aesthetics, harmony. No theater owner or manager in their right mind would hire somebody hideous and deformed. Somebody like this monster would not even be allowed to clean the toilets in such a place!

Raoul quickly put the letter back into its envelope and carefully sealed it again, then returned it to the managers together with another one for Mme. Giry, so that they could forward them to the ladies as they always did with their employees' mail. He tried to imagine Christine's face when she read those latest news. Would she be as amused as he was? Or maybe shocked at her lover's preposterous plan? Would she finally realize how utterly insane that fiend must be?

He would have to find out somehow, what she thought about this. He would take Christine to dinner again, and if necessary, that bothersome Mme. Giry as well. He would behave like the perfect gentleman and best friend, in order to win the ladies' trust, and he would start an innocent conversation about Christine's singing career which would inevitably also lead to a discussion of her teacher. Oh yes, Raoul would find ways to learn more about Christine's relationship with that criminal.

Xxxx

"Mme. Giry!" Christine looked up from her letter. "Erik is going to meet somebody, a potential employer!" Her head spun. That information had thrown her into a turmoil of emotions. What could such a meeting mean? She felt somewhat excited, but the prospect certainly made Erik nervous. True, he had tried to sound confident when he wrote that letter, but Christine knew him well. She could read between the lines, and what she found there was anxiety, fear of being rejected, despair of not being able to make a living for the two of them.

Mme. Giry looked up from her own letter. "Yes, he told me so as well," she admitted.

"And?" Christine asked, playing with the paper in her hands. "What do you think? Will he be able...?" Christine could not finish the sentence. She was too nervous. So much depended on the outcome of this meeting!

One quick glance at Christine revealed the latter's emotional state to the elder woman. "I do not know that," Mme. Giry told Christine. She tried her best to sound calm and composed. "But it is definitely a start. One does not always get the first job one applies for, but once you've gone through one job interview, the next one will be that much easier, because then you know what the potential employer will ask you. Erik is an intelligent man and very talented. Sooner or later somebody will realize that. I have faith in him!"

Christine nodded nervously. "But what if," she began. "I mean, if this Mr. Stanton does not want to hire Erik because... you know. Will that not be like a confirmation of his worst fears for him? Will Erik then not be more convinced than ever hat he will never be able to lead a normal life?"

"He might feel that way," Mme. Giry admitted. "That's why we have to tell him that we believe in him, that we know he will sooner or later find a good job, be it with this Mr. Stanton or with somebody else. We have to boost his morale, so to speak," she added with a smile.

"I will answer his letter right away," Christine decided. "I will tell him that I believe in him, that I know he will find work soon, be it with Mr. Stanton or somebody else. Of course I wish it could be with Mr. Stanton, since the sooner Erik finds work, the sooner I can join him and we can get married, but if for some reason this won't work out, I am confident that the next opportunity will not be far away."

Mme. Giry smiled. „That's the right attitude, Christine," she said. „I will write at once as well and tell him something similar!"

Xxxx

"Papa," Amanda-Ann Stanton begged, her huge blue eyes looking up at her father. "May I come with you today, when you are going to see this French gentleman that may be able to help you with my Opera house?"

"Darling, you know that would be very exhausting for you," the middle-aged merchant replied, his voice full of love, but also of concern.

His beloved wife had died young, and Amanda-Ann was all he had left now. He loved his child dearly, but his daughter had inherited her mother's delicate constitution, was even frailer than his wife had been, and he knew that her days were counted. That was one of the reasons why he had bought that little theater. His child loved music, especially opera, but because of her ailment she more often than not had to use a wheelchair, and theaters were not built to grant access for such a contrivance. In his own theater he would make sure that his child would be able to access the box with the best view with her wheelchair, he could also schedule more intervals, so that the performance would not be too tiring for Amanda-Ann, and thus he would make sure she could enjoy her favorite hobby as much as possible despite her decaying health.

"But papa," Amanda-Ann begged, "I want to meet this gentleman as well! You have been looking for somebody capable for quite a while now, and if we want to stage our first production soon..."

"I know, I know," Carl Stanton replied. "If he is only half as good as this oriental told me, then I will have to hire him, even though..." He shook his head. "He is supposedly hideously disfigured and has to wear a mask at all times. I am not sure... you see, our employees might not respect him because of that, and you..." He shuddered. He did not want his daughter to get nightmares because the only applicant for this important position had a monster's face.

Amanda-Ann smiled. "But papa," she cooed, "don't you understand? He is different. Like me. He probably cannot do everything he wants to do, just like me. He is coming to see you at a time when it is already fairly dark. He does not want to be seen in public, with this mask that he must wear to conceal his deformity. He cannot move around freely like normal people do, just like me. It would mean so much to me to meet somebody who has to face similar problems. And if he can help you make this theater work..."

"Forgive me, my darling," Carl Stanton was at his daughter's side now, putting an arm around her thin shoulders. "I had not thought about that. Of course I understand how important it is for you to meet another person that has to live with a disability, and I also know how much you are looking forward to the opening of our little theater. I just thought it might be wise if I checked out this gentleman first, before introducing you to him. But it seems you have already decided that I should hire him, have you not?"

Amanda-Ann's eyes were burning with passion. "Yes, papa," she said, "assuming that he is as knowledgeable as you were told, of course. Just imagine, how difficult it must be for him to find work anywhere! I am sure it was no coincidence that he heard about our problem, I am sure he was meant to work for you."

Mr. Stanton nodded. "Since it is that important to you to meet Monsieur Givenould, I will allow you to accompany me to the theater this afternoon," he decided. "But you must promise me to hold a long siesta before we leave, and you will have to take your wheelchair. The carriage ride is exhausting enough for you, I will not allow you to walk around!"

Amanda-Ann accepted those conditions. What would she not have promised her father in order to be allowed to attend this meeting with their potential new artistic head of the theater! Though she was certain she would not be able to close an eye during siesta. She was so excited!

Xxxxx

Erik had been nervous all day. In the late afternoon he would have to meet this Mr. Stanton, the rich merchant who had bought a theater for his daughter. How would this man react to his mask? Would he even want to hear any of his suggestions, once they met and Stanton realized that the mask made him uncomfortable? Was the fact that the theater was currently anything but profitable and that therefore no qualified person was interested in the position of artistic advisor really a chance for him? Would Mr. Stanton, after having met him, not prefer to wait a bit longer with hiring such a person, until his theater was fully renovated and refurbished and rehearsals could actually start?

Nadir almost had to shove him out of the apartment when it was time for Erik to leave. Out in the streets, Erik forgot his imminent job interview for a while, since he had to concentrate on getting to the theater without anybody noticing his mask and starting to scream.

Once he reached "The Music House", he once again hesitated. Should he dare enter? Even though it might mean he would have to face rejection again, to see people look at him with disgust? He took a deep breath.

"If I want to find work, I have to do this," he reminded himself. "It might cause me some more humiliation, and I probably won't get the job anyway, but at least I can tell Christine and Antoinette that I tried." He summoned all his courage and entered. "For you, Christine," he thought.

Xxxxx

Erik had been told to proceed to the stage for the interview. That way, he would be able to assess the house's acoustics and it would also be important for an artistic advisor's work to know the size of the stage and the layout of the backstage area.

It was not difficult for him to find his way onto the stage. A jovial middle-aged man with friendly brown eyes and brown hair that showed a little gray at the temples greeted him.

"Monsieur Givenould?" the man asked, and as Erik nodded, he continued, "I am Carl Stanton, and this," he turned to the side and pointed towards a wheelchair in the wings, "is my daughter Amanda-Ann."

A maid now pushed the wheelchair forward, and Erik got a better view of its occupant. He realized at once that Miss Stanton was doomed. She would not live much longer. He had seen such translucent pallor before. She also seemed extremely weak. She was leaning more than sitting in the chair, and she was so very thin! There was something ethereal, though, about her ghostly pale little face surrounded by honey-blond hair. Her huge blue eyes were the color of the sky on a sunny summer day. The child's – for she could not be more than fourteen in Erik's opinion – delicate features reminded him of an elf or a fairy, an otherworldly creature.

"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur, Mademoiselle," Erik politely greeted father and daughter with a slight bow.

Carl Stanton was pleasantly surprised. He was not sure what he had expected, but certainly not a man in his prime with impeccable manners. This Monsieur Givenould was well dressed, and despite the mask – or maybe because of it - he looked rather distinguished.

"I have heard that you might be interested in the position of artistic advisor?" Mr. Stanton began his interview. "This is the theater we are talking about, and it is currently undergoing renovation. What would be your suggestions how to proceed so that we can open as soon as the construction work is finished?"

Erik looked around, then went to the piano that was standing in a corner and played a few notes. He listened carefully, shook his head, walked over to the center of the stage and counted to three on the top of his lungs, then he turned to Mr. Stanton again.

"The acoustics of this place leave a lot to be desired," he informed his potential employer. Gone was all his nervousness, he had forgotten that he was trying to get hired, the situation at hand had caught his full attention. "Since the theater is undergoing renovation, it might be wise to also make a few minor changes that would improve acoustics tremendously." And he began to explain what he had in mind.

Mr. Stanton frowned. He had to admit that what Erik said made a lot of sense. If acoustics could be improved with a little more construction work that certainly was an investment that would pay off in the long run.

"You are knowledgeable in the area of construction as well?" he asked Erik, rather surprised.

Erik nodded. "I worked for a mason once, in Italy," he explained. "If you wish, I could also have a look at the building and make sure that nothing that needs repair gets overlooked."

Mr. Stanton thought that a second opinion on his planned renovations could not hurt. Then he began to ask Erik about his plans for the theater.

"I will need to see every single one of the current ensemble members," Erik explained. "I will need to hear them play their instruments or sing or dance or whatever else it is they do, in order to determine if they are good enough to stay or if we need to hire some new talent."

Once Mr. Stanton had agreed to this, Erik continued. "The stage is of medium size," he said, "and since we most likely will have to build up a new ensemble, I recommend a piece that needs fewer resources for our first production. Something with maybe only one or two sets, three to four soloists, a small orchestra and choir, preferably no dancers. Something like Donizetti's _L'Elisir d'Amore_ might be a good choice."

Amanda-Ann looked at Erik with adoration. This man knew so much! "Is this a good opera?" she asked shyly. "I have never heard of it."

"It is a comedy of sorts," Erik explained. "About a young farmer girl who does not admit her feelings for a young man until the latter buys some supposedly magic love-potion, which in reality is strong wine. Once he ignores her in his drunken stupor she realizes her true feelings for him and there is a happy ending."

Amanda-Ann clapped her hands in delight. "That sounds wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I like happy endings. Please, papa, can we stage this opera?"

Mr. Stanton looked at Erik. "Would you be able to oversee rehearsals?" he asked. "And to help me with finding a set designer, costume designer etc. in addition to a cast?"

Erik nodded. "I would be able to do the designing myself," he offered, "and I will see what can be built here, and for what kind of work we will need outside help. As to rehearsals, once the principal roles have been cast, we can start working with a piano anywhere. The first few weeks of rehearsals do not have to take place here, just like custom fittings could take place elsewhere. That way we can already get a good head start and only have to do the final run-throughs here, once the renovation will be completed."

Mr. Stanton smiled. "I am glad I met you, Monsieur Givenould," he said. "Since this theater will be closed for the next two to three months at least and I will have to pay salaries for cast members as well, I won't be able to pay you much until our reopening, but once this place is up and running and making profits, we can discuss a suitable salary for you as well. Would that work for you?"

Erik nodded. He suddenly realized that he had the job. That the first step towards his reunion with Christine had been taken. He would not make much money at first, and most of it would have to go into clothes. In his new position he needed a high-quality wardrobe. And he would also need to work on his more life-like mask, thus spend money on various materials he had to try out. But the theater would not be closed and unprofitable for ever, and he would do his best to turn it into _the_ single most acclaimed theater of London, to make it more than profitable. Once he had proven himself to Mr. Stanton, his salary would increase and then... He smiled. Then he would be able to make savings and eventually buy a little house. And then he would ask Christine to come over and they would get married.


	13. Yearning For My Guidance

Hi everybody,

thank you all for your continued support, for reading, for putting on alert, for adding to favorites, but most of all for reviewing! I am glad you mostly liked Amanda-Ann, and to introduce her further, there is now some interaction between her and Erik, plus some insight from Nadir on the situation.

I am sorry, no Christine this time, but also no nasty Raoul. We will catch up on them next time, I promise!

Now on to the chapter, and keep in mind that I do not own these characters, well with the exception of the Stantons...

Chapter 13 – Yearning For My Guidance

"Papa," Amanda-Ann begged. "Will I be able to go to our Opera house again? To see how the work progresses?"

Mr. Stanton shook his head. "No, darling," he said, sad that he had to deny his child's wish. "Construction work is in full swing, there is noise and dust, and it is kind of dangerous. I do not want you to go there right now. Maybe later, when we are close to reopening." He smiled. "That way it will also be a much greater surprise for you, when you see all the changes!"

Amanda-Ann nodded. "I know, papa," she sighed. "But still... You went there only yesterday, and Monsieur Givenould... he is there every day?"

The last phrase sounded like a question, even though Amanda-Ann knew it to be true. Her father beamed. "That man is a godsend!" he told her. "He has achieved so much in just a few days. He has managed to audition all our cast members, some of which we are actually able to keep he assures me, he is overseeing the renovation, and has been working on sketches for the set and the costumes. I wonder if he sleeps at all!"

"I knew it!" Amanda-Ann's pale features lit up in a shy smile. "He deserved a chance. I knew he would work twice as hard to prove himself, we who are different learn that at a young age."

"Amanda-Ann!" Her father sounded shocked. "I hope you do not feel that way, that you have to be better, work harder than others, just because you are not as strong as they are! You know that I love you anyway, and your mother would love you, too, were she still alive!"

"My dearest papa," Amanda-Ann cooed. "I know that you could not love me more. But that is just you. Others will not see me the same way. And things are just so much harder for me, like going to see an opera. You had to buy a theater for me so that I can do it more often in the future!"

"Well, there may be some minor problems," Carl Stanton admitted, "but as long as we can find solutions for those..."

"Then you will probably not have any objection to the solution I just came up with?" Amanda-Ann asked shyly.

"Solution?" her father asked. "What are you talking about? What solution? To what problem?"

"The solution to the problem that I cannot go to our opera house now with all the construction going on," Amanda-Ann explained. "We should invite Monsieur Givenould to have lunch with us on Sunday. Then he can tell me about his work, about the auditions he has held, and maybe show me the sketches for the sets and costumes he is working on. That way I can learn about everything that is going on there, without actually going myself."

Mr. Stanton thought about it for a while, then nodded. "I guess that would be a way to get you at least a bit involved," he admitted. "I will therefore ask Monsieur Givenould to join us for lunch onSunday. And," he added, anticipating his daughter's next request, "I will tell him I will send our carriage for him, so that he won't have to worry about being seen in the streets with his mask."

Xxxx

"I cannot do this!" Erik yelled at Nadir. "Working for the man is one thing, but socializing with him? What if he invites a whole group of friends of his to this lunch and wants to parade me around as the oddity I am?"

"I doubt he plans to do that," Nadir tried to calm his friend. "I think having a sickly daughter is giving him a good idea of what it might be like to be somewhat different, don't you think? I certainly would not have done such a thing to anybody, not with my own little Reza..."

"I am sorry, Nadir," Erik sighed. "I know this whole situation reminds you so much of him. And I have to admit, when I met this girl at my job interview, I immediately had to think of your boy as well. True, she is older than Reza was, and her ailment is a different one, but still..." He looked into the far distance remembering the sweet, ethereal face of Amanda-Ann and her deep, sky-blue eyes. "She won't live long either," he whispered, "and once it happens, it will break her father's heart just like Reza..."

Nadir put a comforting hand on Erik's shoulder. "It does hurt," he confessed. "And the hurt will never go away completely. But there is also the joy of having known the child, the memory of all the time spent together. My life would not have been as fulfilling without Reza, and I am sure your employer will one day feel the same way about his child. But, Erik," he reminded his friend. "There is also the child to think about. I know that you were of great help to my little boy. He opened up to you a lot, because he knew that you were different, too. That you could understand his problems like nobody else. Maybe, you could do the same or something similar for that girl. Just think about how fortunate you are to have found a job that you actually enjoy and that will allow you to save enough money so that you and Mademoiselle Daaé will be able to get married in maybe a year or so. You should be grateful to Mr. Stanton and his daughter for giving you that chance. Spending some time with them and showing the young lady some empathy might be a good way to show how grateful you are."

Erik sighed, he knew he had lost the argument. "I guess I will have to tell Mr. Stanton tomorrow, that I gladly accept his kind invitation," he mumbled resignedly.

Xxxx

Amanda-Ann was excited. They did not often receive guests, since it was too exhausting for her. Therefore any guest, any change of their daily routine would have been wonderful in her opinion, but this time the guest would be Monsieur Givenould!

She had met him only once, when he had come for his job interview, and she had been very impressed by her father's new employee. He was tall and slender, and so very knowledgeable about so many things! How he had immediately spotted the problem with the theater's acoustics, how he had suggested a play suitable for their circumstances and offered to design sets and costumes as well! And that voice of his! Amanda-Ann thought she would be listening to him in rapt attention even if he were just reading the city's street directory to her.

She knew she would have so many questions for him, about the progress of the renovation work, about his auditions with the cast, who he had decided could stay and which positions he would have to find new people for, about the play itself, maybe he could tell her a bit more about the story, point out memorable songs to her, and she would like to see the sketches for the set and costume and discuss that with him!

She sighed. Would he even want to talk with her? Maybe he thought she was just a stupid girl! Many people did that. Because she was weak and frail and looked younger than she actually was, people tended to think she was not able to follow an intelligent conversation. No, she shook her head. He would not treat her like that. Not him. Not somebody who most likely had made similar experiences because of his mask – and what lay underneath.

Amanda-Ann wondered. Monsieur Givenould had seemed rather handsome to her, his movements were elegant, and the part of his face that was not covered by the mask was rather appealing. How bad could the disfigurement he was hiding be? It must be terrible, she thought, for if it were only a minor scar, he probably would not wear that mask, which must be uncomfortable. She wondered if she could ask him about it. Would he want to talk about this problem? She decided not to do so this first time. Maybe later. Maybe once she had won his trust, she could approach the subject. And maybe, one day he would show her...

But it was getting late. He would be here soon, and she had not decided yet which dress she would wear for this special occasion. A pretty one, that much was certain, she wanted to look her best, and maybe the maid could pin her hair up...

Xxxx

When Erik arrived at Mr. Stanton's home, he was lead into the parlor, where he found his employer standing by the fireplace, and Miss Amanda-Ann seated in a comfortable armchair.

He took Amanda-Ann's hand and raised it to his lips, then inclined his head in front of his employer. "Monsieur Stanton, Mademoiselle," he said, "thank you very much for your kind invitation. I am honored to join you for lunch today."

Amanda-Ann beamed. He had kissed her hand! He most certainly did not treat her like a stupid child. A slight blush crept into her pale cheeks. "We are honored to have you here, Monsieur Givenould," she whispered. "And I hope you will be able to tell us everything that is going on in our theater at the moment."

"I hope I will be able to answer all your questions, Mademoiselle," Erik replied politely, and since the maid now announced that lunch was about to be served, he bowed in front of Amanda-Ann and offered her his arm to lead her to the dining room.

Erik remembered only too well what Nadir had said about having to deal with a doomed child, and he was only too aware of how much Reza had liked him, because, in a way, he understood. Since he, too, was different. "If I can show my gratitude to Mr. Stanton by making his daughter's short life a bit more enjoyable, I will do so," he vowed to himself. And he knew it would not be difficult. Amanda-Ann pulled at his heartstrings the same way Reza had done all those years ago. And there also was a certain feeling of kinship. They were both outsiders, not fully accepted by society and therefore facing similar problems.

Xxxx

After lunch, coffee was served in the garden. Since the garden table was several minutes' walk from the terrace, Mr. Stanton had planned to use Amanda-Ann's wheelchair to get her there. But to his surprise, the girl had adamantly refused. She wanted to walk the short distance. She felt so strong today, so invigorated!

Lunch had been wonderful! Monsieur Givenould had told her everything about the theater. He had also spoken about the auditions he had held so far. Some of the musicians would be good enough, he had informed her, the violins were even rather decent, but the woodwinds left a lot to be desired and he would have to hire some better players for that department. As to the singers, the so-called soloists were all lacking, with the exception of Bill Hayward, a baritone. His voice was not too special, but he had a long breath, comic talent and could do fast parlando passages. He would be perfect for the role of Dulcamara, the charlatan, pretending to have all sorts of magical potions and ointments for sale, from which the young farmer Nemorino would buy his love potion. Miss Snyders, on the other hand, was not prima donna material, but she would be acceptable in the small role of Giannetta. That left the two protagonists and the soldier Belcore, who also had his eye on the pretty Adina.

Monsieur Givenould had suggested to have a look around music schools in order to find suitable talent and Amanda-Ann thought this was a great idea. Young people, that needed a chance to get a foot in the door, that was who she wanted to perform at her opera house!

Now they were heading out into the garden to where coffee would be served. Erik once again was leading Amanda-Ann. Under his other arm a huge roll of paper was tucked. Once they would have finished their coffee, he would show Amanda-Ann and his employer plans of what was currently being done at the theater building as well as his own drafts for the sets and costumes of the opera they were planning to stage, once the construction work would be finished.

Mr. Stanton was beyond pleased. Amanda-Ann was so vivid, she even seemed stronger than normal. It had been a long time since he had last seen her so excited, so happy. And he had no doubts that this temporary improvement was mostly due to his new employee and their shared interest in staging this opera. "I might have to invite him more often," Mr. Stanton thought, "since she seems to enjoy his company so much."

After coffee, Erik spread out his papers on the table and proceeded to explain everything. Mr. Stanton of course already knew of all the work that was currently being done at the theater, and he had seen Erik's designs for the set and costume before, but he could not help being once again impressed with the wonderful drawings.

Amanda-Ann was even more pleased. She looked wide-eyed at the drawing of the set. This was marvellous! A little village square, but not like one here in England, but the way a village square might look in sunny Italy. She had never been to Italy, but wished with all her heart she could go there one day. But this was almost as good. She could pretend to be there, right in that little village where the story of Adina and Nemorino played out! There was a little cart to one side, and Erik explained that this was the cart of Dulcamara, who would come to the village and offer his dubious services early on in the play.

"Is he going to pull this cart on his own?" Amanda-Ann inquired. "It looks rather heavy. Does somebody help him, or will he have a pony or a donkey?"

Erik cleared his throat. "Some productions might use a pony or a donkey," he explained, "but the animals are a bit... shall we say unpredictable. I would therefore prefer to have the cart pulled by Dulcamara and maybe one servant."

"Oh please, let us use a donkey!" Amanda-Ann begged. "It would look so much more natural! It would not have to be on stage for long, just to pull the cart in, then it could be lead away. Surely, in this village there will be stables..."

Mr. Stanton laughed. "You won't stand a chance, Givenould," he told Erik. "My daughter wants a donkey, so we'll have to give her one!"

He looked up startled. Had that just been a raindrop, he had felt? Indeed, they had all been so caught up in Erik's drawings and explanations thereof that they had not noticed the dark clouds forming overhead. He panicked. Even though Amanda-Ann seemed comparatively strong today, it would take her several minutes to reach the safety of the house without her wheelchair, and if she got soaked...

Erik seemed to understand the situation. He quickly jumped to his feet. "If you permit, Mademoiselle," he said to Amanda-Ann and scooped her up in his arms, then he began to run towards the house as fast as he could. Mr. Stanton followed, carrying Erik's sketches.

Once inside, Erik carefully deposited Amanda-Ann into a comfortable armchair. "I hope you did not get too wet, Mademoiselle," he asked.

Amanda-Ann's face was glowing. "Not at all, thanks to you," she whispered, still overwhelmed by the feeling of being carried by his strong arms. How safe she had felt, how protected! And how chivalrous of him it had been to offer her his help in such a way! "I hope I was not too much of a burden to you," she added, giving Erik an adoring look.

Erik laughed. "Not at all, Mademoiselle," he assured her. "You are as light as a feather!"

Mr. Stanton had arrived in the meanwhile as well. He put Erik's papers down on a nearby side table and turned to his daughter, concern in his eyes. "Are you cold, my dear?" he asked. "Getting wet is very harmful to you, especially since with the rain it is getting quite chilly outside!"

Amanda-Ann smiled at her father. "I am perfectly fine, papa," she reassured him, "thanks to Monsieur Givenould. He brought me inside so fast that I hardly felt any raindrop at all. I think it only got really bad once we were safely in the house."

After Mr. Stanton had looked her over critically and realized that she spoke the truth and did not look soaked at all, he turned to Erik and grasped his hand. "Thank you," he uttered. "Oh thank you, Monsieur Givenould! Your quick reaction spared my daughter a cold shower and kept her dry and safe. I am forever in your debt!"

"We would be honored if you would join us for lunch again next Sunday," Amanda-Ann added, blushing at the boldness of her suggestion.

"Yes, yes, please!" her father begged. "Please have lunch with us again next Sunday, to keep us informed on everything!"

"I... I will be honored," Erik stammered, feeling almost suffocated by their gratitude. He had not thought much about it. He had just instinctively realized that the girl could not get back to the house on her own feet fast enough before it would begin to pour, so he had carried her.

Amanda-Ann looked at him, her eyes full of hero-worshipping. "We are friends now, are we not, Monsieur Givenould?" she asked.

Erik nodded. He knew that this girl had found a place in his heart already, right next to the memory of Reza, Nadir's son.

"Will you then tell me your first name?" Amanda-Ann inquired. "And maybe you could call me Miss Amanda-Ann instead of Mademoiselle from now on?"

Erik looked over to Mr. Stanton for approval. As the older man nodded, Erik agreed. "It will be a pleasure to address you in such a personal way, Miss Amanda-Ann," he said. "And to answer your question, my first name is Erik."

"Erik," Amanda-Ann repeated, and smiled. It was a good name, strong and comforting, like the man himself. "My good friend, Mister Erik!"


	14. His Reign Will End

Hi everybody,

I am once again sooo sorry! These were really totally exhausting, long weeks, and I did not get around to writing a new chapter. I will *try* to post a bit more regularly, though!

Anyway, thank you all for your continued support despite my lousy updating, for reading, for putting on alert, for adding to favorites, and, most of all, for reviewing. You are the reason why I will never abandon a story and always try to bring it to a satisfactory ending.

Without further ado, here is the new chapter, and this time, sorry, no Erik, though he will be gravely affected by what is going on in this chapter. Now let's see what Raoulie-poo is up to, and how he is trying to manipulate Christine and Mme. Giry, but please keep in mind that I do not own those characters...

Chapter 14 – His Reign Will End

Raoul was looking forward to dinner. He had taken out Christine and her bothersome chaperone of a ballet mistress a few times already since the "Il Muto"-incident, but so far he had not had much success in either charming Christine or getting more information on his rival. But this time would be different. This time he had a few aces up his sleeve. This time he would make some serious progress.

He once again glanced at the report that he had gotten from the London detective he had asked to check a few details for him, once he had learned from reading Christine's and Mme. Giry's letters that the fiend had been employed by a certain Mr. Carl Stanton and was apparently quickly becoming a close friend of Stanton's family. What the detective had told him was useful information, indeed. If he used it right, it should not be difficult to drive a wedge between Christine and her so-called Angel. He would plant the seed of doubt and mistrust, and then all he would have to do was sit back and wait.

Soon Christine would be his. He lasciviously licked his lips at the thought of finally being able to rip off her clothes and devour her luscious body. But not today. Not yet. Today he would once again have to play the perfect gentleman. It would be difficult to restrain himself so much, but it would be worth it. Once she was his, he would make her pay for the pain caused by the wait and the restraint. Then she would have to completely submit to his lust in any way, shape and form.

Xxxx

Dinner at the prestigious restaurant "Chez Arnold" once again seemed to stretch endlessly. Christine hated those regular dinner dates with Raoul. She would much rather have spent her time rereading Erik's letters and writing long letters to him, telling him everything about her daily life, what was going on at the Opéra Populaire, asking him about his progress with Mr. Stanton's theater, and telling him over and over again how much she loved him.

Almost three months had passed now since Erik had left Paris, and she missed him so terribly! In fact, Christine thought that the longer their separation lasted, the harder it was for her. From Erik's letters she knew that he was on the best way of making enough money that he could ask her to follow him in maybe a year's time, but a year was so incredibly long without Erik!

"How would you like to get a starring part in our next production, Little Lotte?" Raoul's question brought Christine back from her reverie about Erik. She gave her so-called childhood sweetheart a bewildered look.

"A starring part? But Raoul, I told you,... I mean, I do not want you to..." Christine stammered. She was more convinced than ever that she would be labeled Raoul's mistress should he somehow promote her career. Even though she made sure never to be seen in public with him without a chaperone, she knew that gossip about her and the Vicomte was running wild already because of their frequent dinner dates. Now, if she suddenly got a starring part... She shuddered at how this fact might be interpreted by society's most notorious rumor-mongers.

"I know," Raoul told her in an avuncular manner, to make sure she did not read anything else into his efforts. "But this is not the way you seem to think it is. In fact, we have been told by theater critics over and over again that your performance, both, in "Hannibal" and also the night of the "Il Muto"-incident, has been stellar, that you are superior to Carlotta in every way, timbre of voice, technique, interpretation, acting, looks. That we are fools if we keep using her instead of you. We even have received several letters from audience members asking when they would be able to enjoy your singing again. Therefore, our esteemed managers have decided to give you a starring part in the next production." He smiled at Christine engagingly. "It was their decision, not mine," he added. "I only asked for the favor of being the one to give you the good news."

Christine stared at him, almost in shock. Such news had been the last thing she had expected. "But how, why?" she gasped. "I mean,Carlotta has a contract. She has the right to sing the leading lady's part..."

Raoul grinned. "That's why we chose a play that has two equally important soprano roles," he explained. "So we can give you a featured role, and employ Carlotta as well. That way, the critics and audience members will be happy, because they get to hear you, you will be happy, because you get another chance at a good role, and Carlotta should be happy as well, since she gets her starring part, too."

"And what," Christine stammered, "what would that play be?"

"Le Nozze di Figaro by Mozart," Raoul informed her. "Carlotta will play the Countess – she will love that, since it will make her feel more important – and you will play her maid Susanna, Figaro's bride. Since this opera is about Susanna's and Figaro's wedding, you are actually in a way the more important character, though both have their chance to shine. And I know who will win the audience's favor," he added.

Christine nodded. She knew that Raoul was right about recent comments in the papers regarding the continued use of Carlotta when they had a talent like her at their disposal, and she had to admit that the idea of putting up a production that would use both her and the diva was a brilliant way of doing exactly what the audience and the critics wanted without slighting Carlotta or breaking their contract with her.

"When?" she only asked. If this was to be the next production, rehearsals would have to start soon.

"Oh, in maybe two or three weeks," Raoul said vaguely. "André and Firmin will probably announce it to the theater company within the next few days. Why do you ask?"

"I...," Christine looked into her plate. She did not want to discuss this with Raoul. "I need to prepare for the part," she whispered.

"Of course," Raoul smiled at her. "That is why I have given you a head-start right now. I am sure you will want to study the role with your tutor."

Christine blushed. Erik! Oh, how she wished he would be there right now! He would be able to help her with every nuance of the character, he would be able to make sure every single note she sang would sound perfect. But Erik was not here. She would have to prepare for this challenge on her own, and that made her slightly nervous.

"Ah... yes,..." she mumbled.

Raoul frowned at her. "Is something the matter, Little Lotte?" he asked, seemingly concerned.

"No, no," Christine was fast to reply, but the tone of her voice and the uncertain look in her eyes gave a totally different message.

"Something is troubling you," Raoul said, his voice oozing concern. "And I think it has something to do with this upcoming production. Do not worry, you will have time enough to prepare for the role, and with a teacher as good as yours..."

He interrupted himself as he noticed Christine's growing discomfort. "Oh, did I say something wrong?" Raoul quickly asked. "Your teacher,... is that the problem? Is he not teaching you anymore?"

Christine was squirming now. She did not like the way this conversation was going,at all.

Mme. Giry thought it was time to jump in. "Christine's teacher is currently not in Paris," she told Raoul. "Of course this is an unfortunate coincidence, but he could not foresee that he would be needed here right now."

"I am sorry," Raoul replied politely. "I did not know that. How unfortunate! A vacation? Maybe he can come back sooner than planned and take a longer break after opening night of our new production?"

"That is not possible," Christine blurted out, wishing she had kept her mouth shut the moment those words had escaped her.

"Whyever not?" Raoul inquired, feigning interest.

"He has obligations elsewhere," Mme. Giry tried to explain away Christine's blunder.

"I see," Raoul continued. "Family?"

"He is with a friend," Mme. Giry replied vaguely.

"A friend?" Raoul grinned. "A lady friend perhaps? Is the gentleman on a honey-moon?"

"Of course not!" Christine was feeling really angry now. Raoul had no business talking about Erik! And where did this sudden interest of his for her teacher come from anyway?

"A male friend, then?" Raoul asked,his voice insinuating all sorts of things two male bachelors might enjoy on a trip, drinking, whoring, etc.

"He is nothing like that!" Christine blurted out again.

"Well, it is none of my business anyway," Raoul relented. "I am sure your teacher is a true gentleman, I did not want to make it sound like I had any doubts about his character. I just noticed that you are a bit concerned how you will be able to prepare for the role without him. If you ask me, I am convinced that you will do great, even without his help. You have reached such a level of excellence already, that you do not really need a teacher anymore. It is time for you to cut your ties with him and stand on your own two feet. You will be absolutely fantastic, you will see!"

For a while they talked about the upcoming production. When dessert was served, Raoul finally brought up another topic. "By the way," he told the two ladies, "André, Firmin and I have thought long and hard about ways of reducing costs so that we can maybe have a few more productions per year, and we have been thinking about entering some kind of partnership with other theaters."

When he saw the baffled looks the two ladies gave him, he elaborated. "The concept is simple," he explained, "we would not have to build our own sets and have our own costumes made, but we would exchange them with another theater. See, our sets for "Il Muto" are still in pretty good shape. We will not be using them anymore and could therefore ship them off to another theater instead of trashing them. The same goes for the costumes. This other theater might have sets and costumes for another play that they are not using anymore and could ship to us in return. Thus, we would both save money and would be able to put on a new, cost-effective production after only a few weeks of rehearsal."

"But everybody here in Paris has seen our production of "Il Muto", Mme. Giry objected. "And people from the surrounding areas that are interested in opera have seen it here. Which theater anywhere near would therefore want our sets?"

"I was not talking about a theater nearby," Raoul retorted. "Maybe not even in France, though I suppose Marseille or Nice might be a possibility. I was thinking more along the lines of a theater, or several theaters, abroad. London, for instance. There are several theaters there that put up first class productions. We could probably find more than one theater there with which we could start such a production exchange."

Christine blushed at the mentioning of London, and Mme. Giry, too, was getting the impression that the Vicomte had some ulterior motive in telling them all that. Surely he could not know that Erik was in London, or could he?

"That is indeed an interesting idea," Mme. Giry therefore said cautiously. "But it is also a very new concept. Not every theater might be interested. Some might fear, for instance, that either we only send them well-used sets and threadbare costumes, or that maybe the sets and costumes might suffer during transport and will not be usable once they arrive."

"Naturally," Raoul agreed. "But of course, we would share that risk, for the sets and costumes they send us might be in poor condition as well. That is why we have to chose our partners carefully."

Mme. Giry nodded. "That is a wise decision," she admitted. "But, if I may ask, how are you and Messieurs André and Firmin planning to go about looking for such a partner theater?"

"Oh, we are in no hurry," Raoul explained. "We already have the remaining two productions for this season funded, and the exchange would begin in fall at the earliest. That gives us a little bit of time. I have started reading British newspapers, in the hope of getting a good idea of what their cultural scene is like. That should help me narrow our search down to two or three likely choices for such a cooperation."

"That does sound like a reasonable approach," Mme. Giry agreed. She did not feel too comfortable, carrying on this conversation, but one glance at Christine had told her that the girl was in no condition of uttering even one word. Christine was literally falling apart next to her, nervously ringing her hands and biting her lips. If she did not want the Vicomte to pay too close attention to her charge, Mme. Giry therefore had to keep him occupied, turn his attention to the topic at hand and away from Christine.

"Indeed, it is, isn't it?" Raoul gloated. "At a later point one of us, that is, André, Firmin or myself, might have to go to London and talk to the theater owners and managers in person. But of course, first we have to decide which companies we would like to approach. There are a lot of factors that we need to consider, such as quality of their production, plays they are actually doing and might have sets for to trade for ours, etc."

"Of course size of the theater matters as well," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Which is a pity. Some of the smaller houses might put on really decent productions. But..."

He made a big show of frowning as if deep in thought. "Maybe there is a way of adapting sets that were originally built for a smaller stage. I will have to think about it. Maybe by using some sort of frame to make our stage appear smaller... If we had a regular exchange with a smaller theater, the investment into such a frame construction might pay off soon, I must discuss this with André and Firmin. If we could take smaller theaters into consideration as well, we might have more and better choices."

"I am sure that is the case," Mme. Giry once again replied stiffly.

"Yes, certainly," Raoul was eager to agree. "I am not exactly thinking about Covent Garden, but houses like the Queen's or Your Majesty's, or The Music House, though the latter recently changed owner and is closed for the moment due to renovations, but from what I have heard they do have an artistic director now who supposedly is amazing. They are currently preparing their opening production, I have heard, and that new person there is apparently overseeing construction work, while at the same time studying the parts with choir and soloists, rehearsing with the orchestra, designing sets and costumes. All of London is looking forward to opening night, everybody is eager to see if this genius is really as marvelous as his reputation."

Raoul paused for effect. He tried to keep his features as neutral as possible, while he enjoyed the looks of utter shock and fear on both his dinner partners' faces. He knew he had landed a coup. The thought that he might go to London and contact their precious monster in order to discuss potential cooperation had shaken both ladies.

"Come to think of it," he then added, almost as an afterthought, "he may not be all that special, after all. Maybe it's just a case of favoritism, for I have heard that the theater owner, a Mr. Starleton or Stanton or something like that, has a pretty daughter, and there is some speculation that something is going on between the young lady and that new artistic director. I mean," Raoul continued, "he came out of nowhere. Nobody had ever heard of him before. He has not worked at any other theater. And now he is in charge of everything? Renovation, rehearsals, set design, costume design, choice of plays to be performed? I am sure something other than his supposed talent has caused this sudden promotion, and most people in London seem to think it's the young lady. Some even say that she is the real owner of the theater, not her father. I hear she is about your age, Christine, though some think she looks younger. Be that as it may, if she fancies that man, that would explain things."

"I guess this question will be solved, once the theater reopens with its first new production," Mme. Giry managed to say, then she turned to Christine. She had a feeling they had to leave at once or something terrible would happen.

"My dear, you look awful, why did you not say that you are drop-dead tired?" she asked, then turned to Raoul again. "Monsieur le Vicomte," she said, "thank you very much for a nice evening and an interesting conversation, but you must excuse us now. Christine is exhausted, and she has to get up early tomorrow morning, for rehearsals. Also, if she is to learn the part of Susanna in Le Nozze di Figaro in addition to her other duties, the next few weeks will be taxing for her."

"Of course, of course," Raoul agreed, "how inconsiderate of me to keep you so long! You may use my carriage. I am sorry, Little Lotte, I got carried away talking about this new project.." He politely offered Christine his arm and lead the two ladies out of the restaurant towards his waiting carriage.

Once the two ladies were comfortably seated, he told the coachman to bring them to the Opéra Populaire and then come back for him.

Raoul returned to the table, ordered a cognac and sat down. He was very satisfied with the progress he had made this evening. Surely, Christine now would start to wonder about how the fiend had gotten this job. Come to think of it, Raoul was not even sure if what he had said had really been a lie. That Stanton girl was seventeen years old just like Christine, and the detective had told him that there was speculation about her and that reclusive new star manager that had come out of nowhere, since that man spent every Sunday with the Stantons. Was it therefore really too far-fetched to imagine that the freak could play a double game, flirting with this Miss Stanton, while keeping Christine on the back-burner, just in case he would not be able to convince the rich heiress to marry him?

"Christine can't get letters from him any longer," Raoul decided. "Let her doubt grow... Nor should he get letters from her. Maybe that will drive him into that Stanton-wench's arms."


	15. Remember Me, Once In A While

Okay, there is no excuse for my long silence, I know that. And I was positive I would be able to update in a more timely manner, when I posted the last chapter. Of course that did not happen. Holiday preparations and 6 days without internet got in my way. But I am back now and once again I must thank you all for reading, for putting on alert, adding to favorites, and, last but not least, for reviewing. I am always surprised, how many people are still sticking with this story despite my rather irregular updates, but it is your support what keeps me going!

Anyway, back to the story. It seems everybody is miserable by now, with the exception of a certain fopster. But that was to be expected, or not? Anyway, please remember that I do not own these characters! (No, Santa once again disappointed by not giving me ownership of them, I know, too bad!)

Chapter 15 – Remember Me, Once In A While...

The moment the two ladies had reached the safety of Mme. Giry's quarters at the Opera, Christine had a nervous breakdown.

"What was that?" she sobbed. "Why did Raoul tell us all that about Erik and his employer? Do you think he knows...?"

Mme. Giry sighed. She wished she could say that it all had been a coincidence, that the Vicomte had had no ulterior motives when he mentioned "The Music House" and its apparently much anticipated reopening. There was, of course, a slim chance, that he had no clue as to who the new artistic director of that theater was and that he had only talked about it as part of his plan to work closer with other theaters. But if so, why had he gone into such details about this particular theater and its management? He had mentioned other possible candidates for cooperation as well without any additional information on these theaters' owners and employees.

"I fear he knows, or at least suspects," she therefore replied. "I am sure there is gossip about some of the other venues he is considering for cooperation as well, but he only gave us this story about the Stantons and their new protégé."

"Erik is in grave danger, then!" Christine whispered, starting to shake uncontrollably.

"Sh, quiet, calm down, my dear!" Mme. Giry was at Christine's side in an instant, hugging the sobbing girl close. "The Vicomte may suspect something, but I am not convinced he knows anything for sure. He did not mention that this artistic director of "The Music House" is said to be wearing a mask, for instance. Maybe that detail is still widely ignored in London. As Erik told us in his letters, the Stantons always let him use their carriage when they invite him, and he works long hours, therefore likely is not out much in daylight. Of course the people at "The Music House" must have seen him, but you know how he is. He always finds ways to conceal himself. When he auditioned the ensemble members he probably stood in the wings, only showing his normal left profile to them. So those he had to replace would not know about his handicap. Those he kept, are probably grateful to him and do not talk about it, especially since Mr. Stanton, the owner and thus their employer, seems to be really impressed with Erik. Who would want to anger their employer and risk getting fired? They may also respect Erik despite the mask because of his expertise. There are many reasons, why they would not talk to the media about his mask. Therefore Raoul might suspect that the genius at the theater is your teacher, but why would he think he is the former Opera Ghost?"

Christine nodded. What Mme. Giry had said did make sense, at least in a certain way. "But the name?" she weakly objected. "I told him once that my teacher's name is Givenould. Surely people in London know that this is the name of Mr. Stanton's new artistic director?"

"The Vicomte probably has heard that that's the name of the supposed genius at "The Music House"," Mme. Giry admitted. "But then again, he cannot be 100 percent certain it is your teacher. He may not exactly recall what name you gave him all those weeks ago, and even if he does, he cannot be sure that the spelling is identical. For instance, your teacher could be Erik Givenould, with a k and ld at the end of his last name, while the person in London could be Eric Givenoux, with a c and x at the end of his last name. Or the names might only be sounding similar. Erik is not such an unusual first name in England, and many last names there have a French origin, due to the fact that Norman kings ruled the island for many years. So, while the Vicomte may suspect, I don't think he can be sure."

"But he will try to find out for sure," Christine retorted. "We must warn Erik! He may not be safe in London anymore!"

Christine fought hard to suppress tears. If Erik was not safe in London, he would have to leave. Leave a place where he had found acceptance, a job and a chance at a future. If he had to leave now, where could he go? Where would he be safe from the Vicomte's investigations, where could he find a safe haven, and how long would it take till she would see him again?

"We will have to tell Erik to be careful," Mme. Giry decided. "He should not show himself in public more than absolutely necessary, he should work on a more life-like mask, and maybe apply for British citizenship. If he had a British passport, it would be hard to prove that he is a Frenchman by birth or that he has ever been to Paris."

"But will this be enough?" Christine asked, panic still clearly audible in her voice. "Will Raoul give up if he cannot prove who Erik really is? Will he leave him in peace ever?"

Mme. Giry sighed. "I hope so," she finally admitted. "But knowing the Vicomte, there is no guarantee. We'll have to be careful, what we say in his presence. If we show too much interest in this new project of his, for instance, he might guess that we are trying to find out how much he knows. Also," she added, as she remembered something else Raoul had said, "I think he was trying to make you doubt Erik's faithfulness. If he brings up this topic again, it would therefore be best to feign complete disinterest in this particular gossip. Can you do this?"

Christine bit her lips and tried to smile as she nodded slowly.

Mme. Giry eyed her curiously. "You didn't believe that nonsense about Erik and Miss Stanton, or did you?" she asked. "You must know that his heart is yours for all eternity, and that whatever this young lady means to him, it will never be even close to what he feels for you!"

"I know that," Christine whispered. "It's just, … " She was searching for the right words to express her feelings. "I... envy her," she finally admitted. "She can see Erik so often and discuss this new production with him, and I... all I have is a letter every few days! I miss him so!"

Mme. Giry laid a comforting hand on Christine's shoulder. "I know," she said quietly, "and he feels the same about you. But if we can throw the Vicomte off Erik's tracks, you will be able to join him in London in about a year, and then you won't have to separate from him ever again."

Xxxx

A few weeks passed, and Raoul never brought up his plans of a cooperation with London again. He did collect every letter Christine and the Girys received though, as well as all those the three ladies sent out. He was sure the seed of doubt he had planted in Christine's mind that night would grow, once she understood that she was not going to get any letters from her lover anymore. It would all make sense to her then, proving to her that the freak had indeed abandoned her for a rich heiress. Then she would be mad at her former lover, angry at his betrayal, saddened by his infidelity. That's when Raoul would make his move. It would be soon now. A few more weeks, maybe two or three months at the most, then she would be his, then he would be able to feast his eyes on her perfect, lithe dancer's body in all its naked glory, then he would be able to touch every inch of her bare skin with his hands, lips and tongue, then he could explore every part of her anatomy to his liking.

Xxxx

Christine had gotten herself a score of Mozart's "Le Nozze di Figaro" the day after her dinner with Raoul and had begun familiarizing herself with the role of Susanna. For a few days she was so busy with the music, that she did not even realize that Erik's letter was overdue. After all, it sometimes took a day or two longer for a letter to arrive. Erik also had told her in his last letter that they were close to opening night and that he would have to put in a few hours of extra work to get it all done in time for the big event which would take place in about one month. He might not have been able to get his letter to the post office before that one closed down for the night. Or maybe a storm had delayed the boat carrying the mail over the Channel. Such things happened from time to time.

But a week passed by without a letter from Erik, and Christine began to worry. Since Mme. Giry had not received a letter either, she tried to remain calm, though. Even if Raoul had spoken the truth – as inconceivable as that seemed to her – and Erik had indeed formed a closer relationship with this Amanda-Ann-girl, Christine could imagine him stopping to write to her out of embarrassment. But he most certainly would not stop writing to Mme. Giry, who was his oldest friend. No, there must be some other reason that kept him from writing, most likely his work.

Or could he be ill? In all the years she had known Erik, she could not remember him being sick ever. She could not remember one single day he had not talked to her, been there for her. Therefore the idea of him catching a cold or something similar now seemed rather ridiculous, but what if?

Mme. Giry grew a bit nervous as well, though, for Christine's sake, she tried to hide it as best she could and to pretend being confident that Erik's silence was no big deal and would eventually be explained. A letter could have gotten lost, for instance. Things like that did happen every once in a while. And of course his work had to take precedence now that the opening night of his first production was approaching. After all, it was vital that the reopening of "The Music House" be a huge success. If Erik could accomplish that, Mr. Stanton would be satisfied, raise his salary and continue to employ him. Should something go wrong, though... Erik would most certainly write to them, as soon as he could, at the very latest after the grand reopening, to tell them how everything had gone.

Christine nodded to all those explanations, tried to remain calm and to concentrate on studying the part of Susanna. Rehearsals for "Le Nozze di Figaro" had started in the meantime, and she needed to be as well prepared as possible without Erik's help in order to justify the trust the managers had shown in her by putting on such a play that would showcase her opposite of Carlotta.

But despite her best effort to think positive and to focus on her work, Christine became restless. Her cheeks turned pale and it was hard for her to hide her nervous agitation, her worry that the long silence meant something bad and sinister.

Xxxx

Erik was a mess. He had not received a letter from either Christine or Antoinette in weeks. He could not imagine what could possibly keep them from writing. True, one of them might have caught a cold, but then the other one would have informed him and explained the situation to him. They also might have been rather busy for a few days, but then that would only mean a delay in letters, not a complete stop of the correspondence. If rehearsals had kept them busy – and Erik knew from experience that by now the Opéra Populaire would have chosen the next play to perform and would be preparing for a new production - the ladies might have been a bit late in responding, but it had been two weeks now without a letter, actually more like two weeks and a half, and he was getting worried.

Could something have happened to them? Were they maybe unable to write?

Nadir had a hard time trying to calm down his nervous young friend, especially, since he himself was coming down with a flu and not feeling too well. The foggy weather in London had finally gotten to the Persian and he was constantly sneezing.

"Don't take it so hard, Erik," Nadir managed to mumble between two sneezes. "They might be in a similar situation as I am, or maybe a letter got lost, or maybe there is a strike at the French mail offices or something. This Antoinette does care for you and would not give up on you just because she has not seen you in a few months. If I remember correctly, she never lost her faith in you even when you were gone from Paris for years, not even when you came home after Persia, with psychological scars. And the Daaé-girl, well, from what you told me, she is completely smitten with you, she will not suddenly have given up on you either. Whatever is the cause of their silence, it will be explained sooner or later, you will see. You must have faith in the ladies, Erik!"

Erik sighed. "But what if," he exclaimed nervously, "what if this nasty Vicomte has made a pass at Christine? What if he has won her over and now she is ashamed of telling me?"

Nadir laughed. "That pompous fop?" he asked. "You do not really believe that any woman in her right mind would want him? Especially not a woman like your Christine, who lives and breathes music! Have faith in her and trust her!"

Erik blushed. He felt ashamed for not trusting Christine more, but there was something else that troubled him. "But what if," he whispered, "that debauched scoundrel has attacked her, dishonored her? She might feel too embarrassed to tell me, she might feel unworthy..."

Nadir nodded. That was of course a possibility. "Would you mind?" he asked cautiously. "Would you not love her anymore if something like that had happened?"

Erik stared at him. "Not love her anymore for something that is not her fault?" he exclaimed, shocked by his friend's question. "I could never stop loving her, and if he has hurt her in any way, shape or form, I would love her more, not less. I would make sure to prove to her that it does not make a difference for me, that for me she will always be the one and only!"

"Then stop worrying," Nadir informed him. "I am confident, that everything will be fine in the end. If I were not coming down with this disgusting flu right now, I would go to Paris and check on the ladies myself, just to make sure they are all right. If you have not heard from them once I will be completely recovered and fit again to travel, I might even do that, but for now, just be patient. The next letter may arrive tomorrow or the day after!"

But it didn't arrive. Not the next day or the day after. To make things worse, Nadir's illness turned out not to be just a cold or the flu, but a bad case of pneumonia, and in addition to the stressful last weeks before the reopening of "The Music House" and the fact that no matter how long he waited there were no letters from either Christine or Antoinette, Erik now had to worry about his friend as well.

Erik even had to excuse himself from his weekly Sunday dinners with the Stantons twice in a row, in order to care for his sick friend. In a way, Erik was glad he had this excuse to stay home. He felt like a nervous wreck and did not feel up to the task of light, charming conversation with Miss Stanton.

Mr. Stanton of course understood that Erik's first duty was to his sick friend, and therefore accepted his excuses, but he prayed with all his heart that Nadir would get better soon and Erik would be able to resume his weekly Sunday-visits for his daughter's sake. Mr. Stanton had observed Amanda-Ann closely over the past few weeks, and he had begun to suspect that her feelings for Erik were more than hero-worship or a passing infatuation. When Erik had come regularly every Sunday, she had blossomed, seemingly getting stronger and livelier. She was also looking forward to the opening of "her" theater, and thanks to Erik she was already familiar with the play and all its major songs. Now that Erik was unable to come for his weekly visit, Amanda-Ann had turned pale and listless, and her huge blue eyes always looked so very sad, as if every joy had gone from her life.

Carl Stanton knew that Erik's absence was the cause of this. That this man had found his way into Amanda-Ann's heart, and even though he hoped she would improve and be healthier and happier again, once Erik would resume his visits, he also began to fear that one day, such visits and the friendship Erik had to offer Amanda-Ann would not be enough for his precious girl. What would happen then? He was certain that Erik did not love his daughter that way. Could not love her that way, for what healthy, red-blooded man would fall for a sick, doomed girl like her? While he had no doubts that Erik cared deeply for Amanda-Ann, the poor father was also well aware that Erik's feelings for his daughter were those of an elderly brother or fatherly friend, that he did not see Amanda-Ann as his equal, and of course her ailment made it impossible to see her as a woman in the full sense of the word.

For the moment he need not worry, though, for Mr. Stanton was certain that Amanda-Ann did not fully understand her own feelings for his employee yet. She was still too naive, too innocent, had not quite realized what it was she felt for Erik. But once she did realize that... Mr. Stanton did not want to finish that thought. He did not want to think what it could mean to Amanda-Ann's fragile health if she had to accept that the man she loved with all her heart did not return those feelings. He hoped against hope that she would never realize what it was she was feeling for Erik, or that she would be content with his friendship once she found out, but somehow he did not see this happen. In addition to all her health problems, his daughter would have to experience the pain of unrequited love as well. That thought broke Carl Stanton's heart.


	16. Then My World Was Shattered

Once again, I am sorry for the delay. This chapter was incredibly difficult for me to write, and I also had to figure out what would happen in what order, but there it is, the long-anticipated catastrophe.

Before you all kill me for this chapter, let me tell you once again how much I appreciate your support, your reading of my stories, your putting them on alert, adding them to favorites, and, most of all, for leaving me a review, to let me know what you liked or did not like. I do not think I could do it without you all!

Oh, and the aria I mention is called "Deh, vieni, non tardar" (Come, do not delay).

Now on to the tragedy, and keep in mind that I do not own these characters...

Chapter 16 – Then My World Was Shattered

A few more weeks passed without any letters from Erik. Both, Christine and Mme. Giry, were feeling really nervous by now, and both wished they could somehow go to London and check on him. This was of course entirely impossible, since the Opéra Populaire was approaching opening night of "Le Nozze di Figaro", and rehearsals were in full swing, which meant that both ladies were extremely busy.

Mme. Giry was clinging to the theory that Erik must be even busier than them, since he, too, was preparing for a big opening night, and his responsibilities far exceeded those of either herself or Christine.

"Erik may not realize exactly how long it is we have not heard from him," she kept telling Christine. "You know how he can lose track of time when he is concentrating on his work, especially now, that so much is depending on his success. And there is always the chance that one of his letters got lost. Things like that do happen. I am sure Erik will write long letters to both of us once opening night is over. And if not, well, maybe by then we can take a few days off and visit him, just to make sure he is all right."

Christine nodded and tried to be brave, but she could not help being worried. She had a feeling as if some dark storm-clouds were forming right above her head, about to release a thunderstorm that could crush her. Her cheeks lost their rosy complexion and dark rings formed around her eyes, the signs of sleepless nights spent worrying about her love and their future.

In order to keep her mind off this nagging problem, Christine concentrated hard on preparing for her role as Susanna. By working on the beautiful music, she felt somewhat close to Erik, remembering all their voice lessons. She also wanted to do her absolute best, so that Erik could be proud of her. By focusing on her work, she could also almost forget the problem of Erik's silence, at least during day-time. But when she was lying in her bed at night, her fears became overwhelming and she usually only fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning.

Xxxx

About a week before the opening night of "Le Nozze di Figaro" Raoul left Paris for a few days. He did not say where he was going – not that either Christine or Mme. Giry cared about his itinerary – but promised he would be back for the opening night of "Le Nozze di Figaro".

He was a bit disappointed. Weeks had passed since Christine had received a letter from the freak, and even though he had done his best to undermine her trust in that _thing_ by telling her about her teacher's supposed involvement with his employer's daughter, Christine still seemed to pine for that monster and to be utterly immune to his own advances.

Raoul bit his lip. He had already overheard Mme. Giry asking Firmin and André for a few days off after opening night "for private reasons" and he had a feeling that the ballet mistress was planning to go to London and personally check on the fiend. He could not wait that long. If he did not want to lose Christine to this so-called Opera Ghost, drastic means were needed. And he had to act fast. The fact that Mr. Stanton's theater would have its grand opening only days before "Le Nozze di Figaro" would premiere in Paris, as he had learned from his detective in London, would work to his advantage.

Raoul was traveling to England. He was not going to London, though. He could not risk being seen by this thing right now, or the latter might guess that he, Raoul, had something to do with the lack of letters from the ladies. No, London was off limits for the time being. That could wait. His first priority was Christine and how he could force her to accept his proposal.

Raoul therefore went to a small town in middle England, where he approached a small print shop. He had 500 pieces of a flashy flier printed. Of course he needed only one, and it needed to have been printed in England, but ordering only one would have caused suspicion, and getting Christine in his bed was well worth the price of all 500 of those colorful announcements. At first he thought about getting rid at once of the 499 exemplars that he did not need, but then he figured it might be best to wait till he was back in Paris before dumping them. One could never be too careful!

Xxxx

When Raoul returned to Paris the day before opening night of "Le Nozze di Figaro", he found the Opéra Populaire in an uproar. It seemed that during rehearsals of the dance that would take place in the background of the final scene to symbolize the happy ending of the play, one of the young male dancers had stumbled while lifting up Meg Giry. As a consequence, he had dropped Meg and the latter had broken her left ankle.

Firmin and André were nervous wrecks, when they told Raoul about the accident. They had serious doubts the opening night could go ahead as planned, for Mme. Giry was torn between caring for her daughter and changing the choreography of the dance to make it work without Meg, Meg was furious that she could not be part of the production, Christine was worried sick about her friend and close to falling apart, and most performers were convinced that the accident was a bad omen of sorts.

Raoul told them not to worry. He smiled inwardly. This unexpected turn of events would work in his favor. If the pretty flier in his pocket would not yield the desired effect, then he would use Meg's accident to win Christine's hand. In a few weeks' time the young diva would be his.

Xxxx

At first, Meg had been livid at her dance partner for having dropped her and caused her accident, but when she noticed how utterly shocked he was, not to mention the fact that he had to bow out of the production as well since he now was without a partner, she calmed down. Her ankle had been set by a doctor and put into a plaster, she was not in pain any more, and she would not have to work for weeks. As much as she loved to dance, a few weeks of rest did not sound too bad, especially since the doctor had assured her that her ankle would heal completely and she would be able to dance again.

Therefore, Meg's sunny character soon resurfaced, and she managed to calm down her mother and Christine as well. She told both of them not to worry about her and to concentrate on the opening night. She reminded Christine what a great chance to shine this would be for her and how important this performance might be for her future career. After Meg had reassured both, her mother and her best friend, that she would be fine, Christine and Antoinette could finally concentrate on the upcoming performance.

Xxxx

Once the curtain rose and "Le Nozze di Figaro" began, Christine forgot all her current problems, Meg's accident and Erik's silence. For the duration of the play she became Susanna. The audience was already charmed by her performance before the interval, but when she finally sang her big aria in the fourth act, she got standing ovations. Christine smiled a melancholic smile. She knew why it had been so easy for her to convey Susanna's longing, her desire to be finally united with Figaro. That particular song reminded her so much of her own current situation.

Once the play was over, Christine had to attend the after-show party. Mme. Giry went with her, but after she had made sure Firmin and André had seen her, she slipped away to see how Meg was doing. She had hesitated for a second or two to leave Christine alone at the celebration, since she had spotted Raoul among the guests, but had decided that the young soprano would be save in such a huge crowd.

Raoul patiently waited until everybody else had congratulated Christine on her success before finally approaching her. This was his big moment now, the one he had waited for for so long. She could not escape him anymore. Tomorrow he would publish the banns, and in maybe three weeks she would finally be his.

"Oh Christine," Raoul said in a syrupy voice, "you have been beyond amazing! You have exceeded my wildest expectations!" He grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. "Allow me to express my sincere adoration of your art!"

Christine nodded nervously. Only now did she realize that Mme. Giry was nowhere to be seen. "Thank you Raoul," she whispered. "It is kind of you to say so."

"I knew it," Raoul continued, beaming at her. "I knew you could do it even without your teacher. Didn't I tell you, it was time to cut your strings, to stand on your own feet?"

"Ah... yes, I guess you did," Christine stammered, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.

"And a good thing, too, you do not need him anymore," Raoul retorted, "since I doubt he will be coming back to Paris anytime soon, if ever."

Christine's eyes widened in shock. Did Raoul know something about Erik? If so, it could only mean trouble. Maybe Erik had been arrested in London for the alleged murder of Buquet and that was why he had not written in such a long time. She needed to know more.

As much as Christine hated discussing Erik with Raoul, she therefore looked at Raoul, her face as white as the wall behind her. "What do you mean?" she asked nervously.

Raoul pulled some folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "At first I was not sure, where I had heard the name of Erik Givenould before," he said innocently, "then I remembered you had said that was your teacher's name." He unfolded the colorful flier and showed it to Christine.

Christine stared at the announcement, unable to grasp the meaning of the words in front of her. "This cannot be," she finally whispered, as the dancing letters began to make sense to her.

It simply could not be. She must have misunderstood something. This pretty little flier in Raoul's hand could not announce a gala concert at "The Music House" in London _"to celebrate the engagement of my daughter Amanda-Ann to Mr. Erik Givenould"_. Erik would never betray her like that. True, he had not written in a long time, but there must be another explanation for his silence. Not this. Not him engaged to marry another woman.

"I take it, this development surprises you?" Raoul's question interrupted Christine's thoughts.

"I... this... there must be a mistake...," Christine was trembling, trying hard not to scream, not to draw attention to herself.

"I am afraid, I don't think so," Raoul said, his voice oozing compassion. "I feared this would hit you hard, which is why I did not tell you before the performance..."

"It cannot be," Christine repeated once again. It could not be. She must be dreaming. Apparently she had somehow fallen asleep. The exhaustion of the past few days must have caught up with her. A nightmare, that's what that was. Soon she would wake up and this would be over.

"It must be true," she heard Raoul's voice through the fog of her despair. "These announcements were distributed at the great reopening of The Music House last week. You know that I have been looking into starting a collaboration with one or several British theaters and therefore have been collecting information on likely candidates."

Christine stared at him as if he were a ghost, then looked back at the flier. "In two days," she whispered, only now seeing the date of the supposed gala concert.

"And it is publicly advertised," Raoul added. "Thus, even if there were a mistake, they cannot go back now, they have to go through with the wedding."

Christine closed her eyes. Her heart hurt so much, she thought she would die. She still could not believe it, not even with the printed proof in front of her eyes. But could there be any doubts? It would explain why Erik's letters had stopped.

Christine felt dizzy. It was as if a cold hand grabbed her heart. What if it was true? She could see it for herself, black on white, that Mr. Stanton was organizing a gala to celebrate the engagement of Erik and Amanda-Ann. Would Mr. Stanton organize such an event without Erik knowing, in order to trap him, to make him marry his daughter?

No. Christine shook her head. She could not really believe that any father would do such a thing. Maybe if the potential son-in-law was rich and handsome, but Erik was anything but. It must be true then. Or could it? She remembered that Erik had told her that Amanda-Ann was the true owner of the theater, not her father. Had Erik sold himself for a theater? Had the chance of becoming manager of his very own theater been too great a temptation? Or... had he fallen in love with Amanda-Ann? He had mentioned the young heiress' ethereal beauty, and Erik loved everything beautiful.

The longer she thought about it, the more Christine realized that this engagement was maybe not quite as impossible as she had at first thought. But how could Erik have done that to her? How could he have abandoned her like that? Why had he not at least had the decency to tell her he had found somebody else? How long had this been going on? How long had he already been dating the heiress while she had still sent him letters full of love?

"Christine, I realize he meant more to you than just a teacher," Raoul cooed to her, reaching for her hand and holding it, as if he were trying to comfort her. "But apparently he does not feel the same way..."

"I need to be alone," Christine whispered. "Please, Raoul, leave me. I need to think..."

"There is a way how you can show him that you do not care about his marriage plans," Raoul continued, putting an arm around Christine. "You know how I feel about you, Little Lotte. I know that right now you do not love me, that this wound that he has caused you is still too fresh, but you would make me incredibly happy if you accepted my proposal of marriage."

"Raoul, that is nonsense," Christine blurted out. How could he even think she would marry him now? Or anybody for that matter. She wanted Erik and nobody else. If she could not have him, then she would not marry. Ever.

"Would it?" Raoul asked. "If we married, this would be the solution to more than one problem, I think. First, it would be a way to show Monsieur Givenould that his choice of a bride does not hurt you in the least. He would not have the satisfaction of having broken your heart. And second, it would also solve Meg's problem..."

"Meg?" Christine looked up at Raoul. "What about her? What are you talking about?"

Raoul sighed, as if reluctant to continue. "I talked to Firmin and André earlier today," he finally mumbled. "And they said, that because Meg cannot work for weeks on end, and once the plaster has come off, she will have to get back in shape, since she will be out of practice, and who knows if she will ever be as good again as she used to be..."

"Don't torture me like that," Christine almost screamed. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"The plan is to … well... you know, she is not doing anything, but she costs money, therefore... " Raoul stopped again for effect.

"You do not mean they want to.. they are planning to... fire.. her?" Christine asked. She heavily leaned back against the wall. She felt like she would collapse any moment. How much more could she endure? Was there no end to her suffering? First Erik's betrayal, now that?

"Yes," Raoul admitted, sounding sorry. "But of course, if you and I were about to get married, considering that you and Meg are almost like sisters, and I am the patron... they would not dare fire her. They would continue to pay her salary for the duration of her recovery."

Christine closed her eyes. This was too much. How could she marry Raoul? She did not care for him in the least and the thought of having to kiss him and allow him more intimate liberties repulsed her. But there was Meg to consider as well. The Girys needed Meg's salary. They were as poor as she was herself. If Meg was fired, she would not be able to live in the dormitories any longer, she would need an apartment of her own, but without her salary, she would not be able to afford one.

Mme. Giry and Meg had always been kind to her and had done so much for her. Could she really turn her back on them now that they needed her help? And Erik... She felt almost physical pain at the thought of him marrying another. He must not have loved her at all if he was capable of doing that. And she had shown him her devotion so openly, had even told him over and over again in her letters how much she loved and missed him. If she continued to pine for him now, it would be beyond embarrassing. Was it not better to show him that she had not been all that invested in their short-lived engagement either? Raoul was offering her a way of taking her revenge on Erik. Could she really refuse him?

"If you agree, I could arrange for everything very quickly," Raoul whispered in her ear. "We could get secretly married in about three weeks. You only have to tell Mme. Giry after the wedding," he added. "If she learns about Meg's problem before we are married, she might think that our wedding has something to do with that, and she might prevent you from becoming my wife, not wanting you to sacrifice yourself for her daughter's sake. But in that case I could not do anything for Meg..."

Christine sighed. "Three weeks?" she repeated. "So soon?"

Raoul nodded. "For Meg's sake," he explained. "And also to show your teacher that you do not mind. That way we will probably be married before him."

Christine looked to the floor. What did it matter when this farce of a wedding would take place? For Meg's sake she had to go through with it anyway. The sooner it was over and done with, the better.

She nodded. "Yes, Raoul," she whispered. "In three weeks. I will marry you. For Meg's sake and..."

She could not finish. It hurt too much to think about Erik and his betrayal.

"I am the happiest man in the world!" Raoul announced. "I'll go and tell André and Firmin that you are about to become my wife. That way, Meg will be safe!"


	17. Help Me Say Good-bye

Hi everybody,

I hope you have not all abandoned me after the last chapter, and you will still have faith in me after this one, for I need your continued support to keep writing stories! Therefore thank you all for reading, for adding to favorites, putting on alert, and most of all, for those precious reviews some of you are leaving me!

Now the bad news; First, I am not sure if I can update next week, and I most definitely will not be able to update in two weeks. So you might have to wait as long as 3 weeks for the ext chapter.  
Second, as to this chapter: things must get worse, before they can get better. That's what is happening now, sorry!

On to the next chapter, and keep in mind that I do not own those characters..

Chapter 17 – Help Me Say Good-bye

Never before had Christine wished so much to be able to join her father in death. To leave it all behind, the hurt, the betrayal, the pain Erik had caused her. Maybe she should just take a few pills, then lie down and sleep, never to wake up again. She would be at peace then, all her sorrows forgotten, and she would be with her dear papa again.

This would have been the perfect solution to her problems. Her broken heart would find solace that way, and she would not have to keep her promise and marry Raoul. She shuddered at the thought of Raoul becoming her husband with all the rights that would give him over herself – her body. Once or twice she came very close to buying a huge package of sleeping pills in order to escape this fate, but then she remembered Meg, and she could not do it. No, becoming Raoul's wife was her destiny, there was no way around it, unless she wanted to put Meg at risk. Bubbly, warm-hearted Meg, whom she loved like a sister and who would pay the price if Christine did not marry Raoul now.

Christine closed her eyes in despair. As much as she dreaded her upcoming wedding, at least that way she could give her life purpose again. Her life, that had become so meaningless, now that she had lost everything, her father and her beloved Erik, the Angel her father had sent her and who had betrayed her. But at least she would keep Meg safe, until her friend would be fully recovered. For Meg she would go through with this wedding.

Xxxx

Mme. Giry was worried. Meg's accident had rendered her daughter pretty helpless. The doctor had advised Meg to move as little as possible – not that Meg could move around much with the plaster – in order to let the ankle heal. For the next few weeks at least Mme. Giry would therefore not be able to leave Meg and go to London as she had originally planned and as she felt she should do, since there still were no letters from Erik, even though by now the reopening of "The Music House" must have happened already and he should have more time to write. Mme. Giry was convinced now that something was preventing Erik from writing. She had no idea what that could be, but had a feeling that it was bad. Very bad. She was getting really worried.

And then there was Christine. The girl was only a shadow of her former self, a lifeless shell. She walked around and performed her duties as if she were running on automatic, a forced, fake smile on her face, but with eyes that knew nothing of smiles and laughter, eyes that seemed dead.

"She knows it, too," Mme. Giry thought, "that "The Music House" reopened a while ago, that Erik should be able to write by now, but obviously doesn't do it. She is worried, too,..."

When she caught Christine alone for a moment, she hugged her foster daughter and promised her, she would go to London and try to find out what had happened to Erik, the moment Meg's plaster would come off – assuming they had not heard from him by then.

Christine nodded, smiled her fake, sad smile, and said with trembling voice, "I know." Then she ran off, before she started to cry in front of the ballet mistress. Oh, what would it help now to go to London and talk to Erik! He already had made his decision, had started a new life with a new bride, a rich heiress, whose dowry comprised a theater he could run.

Her hand reached into the pocket of her dress for the flier Raoul had given her, the proof of Erik's betrayal. Christine had not found the courage yet to tell Mme. Giry of this development, had not been able yet to talk about the fact she now knew why Erik was not writing any longer. It seemed so inconceivable, hurt too much to even think about it, let alone speak it out loud.

Xxxx

The three weeks passed quicker than Christine would have wanted, and soon the day of her and Raoul's wedding arrived. To explain her absence, Christine told Mme. Giry she was going to her father's grave, which she had neglected during the strenuous rehearsals for "Le Nozze di Figaro". But instead of to the cemetery she went to the de Chagny-estate, where she met with Raoul and the priest from a nearby church, where Raoul had had the banns read the previous few weeks.

The ceremony took place in the living room, the cook and the butler served as marriage witnesses. When it was over and done with, Raoul paid the priest, who left quickly.

Raoul then turned to Christine and grinned. Now she was his! Now she could not escape him any longer. "Let's go to our room," he said, lasciviously licking his lips.

"What... I... I should go back now," Christine mumbled, shocked at the realization what he had in mind. "I need to get ready for tonight's performance..."

"No, not yet," Raoul replied. "There is still time. I have waited so long to make you mine, I can't wait any longer. You just promised in front of God and two witnesses to be my wife, now keep your promise."

"Please," Christine whimpered, "I am not ready, give me some time..."

"As you wish," Raoul's voice was calm, but barely concealed a threat. "Just keep in mind that it depends on your attitude whether or not we can keep Meg on the payment roster. It is your choice, your decision."

Christine almost collapsed. It took all her strength to remain standing, even though the room seemed to turn around her. "Is this an ultimatum?" She finally managed to ask.

Raoul grinned. "A choice," he repeated. "You make me happy, Meg will be fine. You refuse me, Meg is out in the streets. It is that simple. What is your answer?"

Christine wished she could drop dead that very moment. How much more could she endure? Would she really have to submit to Raoul right now? She had hoped that it would be night when she would be forced to consummate this marriage, that her nudity would be sort of shrouded in darkness and thus her dignity would be at least somewhat preserved. But it was still plain daylight. Having to strip in front of Raoul would be beyond embarrassing.

"I do not have all day," Raoul interrupted her thoughts. "Are you coming up with me now or not? If not, I need to get to the Opéra Populaire at once to prepare Meg's release papers..."

Christine closed her eyes. There was no escape now. She had to do it, for Meg's sake, and also, because she had promised it in front of God. She was honor-bound to let Raoul have his way with her. "Yes," she whispered.

"I knew it!" Raoul exclaimed, grabbed her hand and dragged her up the stairs to the master bedroom. Once inside, he looked at Christine and told her, "get naked!"

Christine obeyed and endured. She closed her eyes so that she would not have to see what Raul did to her, and pretended that all this was happening to another person. For if she acknowledged that it was herself suffering through all these indignities and humiliations, she would have died with shame. "For Meg", she kept telling herself over and over again. "This is for Meg."

After about an hour, Raoul finally took his fingers off her naked body. "It's time to go back to the Opéra," he said. "As much as I'd like you to stay au naturel since your body is really most delicious, you should get dressed now."

His words brought Christine back to reality. She opened her eyes and tried to cover herself with her arms and hands. "I need to take a bath," she mumbled, as she noticed the blood and sticky substance between her legs.

Raoul shrugged. "Sponge yourself down a bit," he told her, "but quickly, we need to get going!"

Xxxx

When they finally arrived at the Opéra Populaire, it was very close to the start of the performance and everybody was already nervous because Christine was nowhere to be found. Mme. Giry knew that Christine had wanted to go to her father's grave, but that had been hours ago, and apparently Christine had not returned from the cemetery yet. Could something have happened to her?

Firmin and André were about to call the police to ask them for help to find their missing diva, when the de Chagny carriage stopped in front of the Populaire and Raoul exited with Christine.

Raoul lead her into the main foyer and announced to the nervous group of people – André, Firmin, Mme. Giry and some of the performers – that he and Christine had gotten married earlier today.

"What?" Mme. Giry shouted at him. "This is impossible! You must have coerced her somehow. This is not valid, I will make sure you will have to release her!"

Raoul smiled innocently. "I am afraid, Mme. Giry, you are mistaken," he told her. "Christine married me out of her own, free, will, didn't you, Lotte?" His hand hardened the grip around Christine's, and she nodded obediently.

"I doubt it," Mme. Giry continued. "Anyway, you just married today, the marriage has not been consummated yet. An annulment will be easy, Christine."

"You are wrong again, Madame," Raoul retorted. "Christine is already my wife in every sense of the word. An annulment is not possible any longer. And may I ask you not to get yourself involved in our private life?" His eyes sparkled dangerously at the ballet mistress.

Then he turned to Christine. "I take it, you need to get ready for the performance, Lotte?" he asked.

Christine nodded and walked towards her dressing room. Mme. Giry followed right behind her. "How could you do this?" she asked Christine once they were alone. "I know Erik has not written in a long time, but I am sure there is a good reason for it. I know he still loves you. What will you tell him, once he gets back in touch?"

Christine could not hold back her tears any longer. Without uttering a single word, she reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out the announcement about the concert to celebrate Erik's and Amanda-Ann's engagement and held it out to Mme. Giry.

Mme. Giry looked at it and paled. She could not believe it, did not believe it. It could not be true. Erik loved Christine, she was certain of it, and even though he cared for little Amanda-Ann, he would never prefer her to Christine.

"Where did you get this?" she asked Christine.

"Raoul got it from his contact in London," Christine's voice sounded dead. "These things were distributed at the opening of "The Music House". Erik obviously got offered the chance to take over the theater if he married her. And I... well, I do not own a theater."

Mme. Giry was furious. "Something is not right here," she exclaimed. "Erik would never do that! I will go to London and find out the truth. Immediately. I should not have waited that long."

Christine shook her head. "No," she pleaded. "Please don't. Erik has made it clear that he wants to cut his ties with us. He has not written in months. We have known for a long time, have we not? We just did not want to accept the truth, coming up with all sorts of explanations and excuses. We have been pretending, when the truth has already been staring us in the eyes. If you confront him now... it would not only be pointless, but also humiliating. Just think about it! He must have been courting this heiress for a while already, probably since about the time he stopped writing. Do you have an idea how many letters full of love I still wrote to him when he was already pursuing that... her? I have made a fool out of myself, waiting for him and trusting him. He is probably laughing at me now!"

Mme. Giry sadly shook her head. She still could not believe it, but apparently Christine did. And she was hurt and felt used. Christine had been hit so hard by this, that she had not been able to think clearly. She must have wanted to hit back. That's why...

"That's why you married the Vicomte," Mme. Giry finished her thoughts aloud. "To get back to Erik, to show him that you felt no more bound by your engagement than he apparently did." She put a stress on the word apparently, which was lost on Christine, though.

"No!" Christine wanted to scream. "Not for that reason, but because of Meg!" But she had decided she would never tell the Girys about her sacrifice, and what she now knew she would have to endure as Raoul's wife. So she simply nodded and looked down.

"And is it true," Mme. Giry asked, "that you and the Vicomte, that you have already...?"

Christine nodded again. There was no purpose in denying it. "This afternoon," she mumbled, "right after the wedding..."

Mme. Giry sighed. It was too late then, anyway. Even if there had been false play, as she suspected, there was no way now to get Christine out of this marriage. An annulment was not possible anymore, and a divorce was probably impossible, unless the Vicomte wanted it too. But he had just gotten what he had always wanted, he would not release Christine any time soon. Maybe once he'd gotten tired of her. Christine would therefore have to live with the consequences of her rushed action for the time being, and Mme. Giry had a feeling as if Christine was already regretting her decision to marry the Vicomte. She did not look like a happy bride at all.

Xxxx

Amanda-Ann was leaning in a comfortable armchair, her delicate features pale, her huge blue eyes troubled like a stormy sea. "When will my friend Erik be able to come for a visit again?" she asked. "I thought I would be able to spend some time with him at the opening, but he was so busy, he did not have much time for me, and I wanted so much to thank him for making this happen and to discuss the wonderful play and performance with him."

Carl Stanton smiled comfortingly at his daughter. "You know that his friend has been very ill," he reminded her. "And from what I hear this Mr. Khan is still convalescing and rather weak..."

"I hate this Mr. Khan!" Amanda-Ann blurted out passionately. "For keeping Erik from us!"

"Erik?" her father asked, "not Monsieur Erik?"

Amanda-Ann blushed. Of course she always addressed Erik properly as "Monsieur", but in her thoughts she always called him Erik. Her Erik. When he was there, she felt strong and healthy, as if he were somehow giving her strength. Or as if he were her sun that warmed her, her light, her... everything.

"I... meant to say Monsieur Erik," she stammered, embarrassed that her father had caught her at this slip of her tongue. "I wish he were here now. We could talk about our play and maybe start thinking about what we want to perform next, and..." She turned an even deeper shade of red.

Mr. Stanton looked his daughter deep in the eyes. "You miss him that much?" he asked slowly. It seemed as if the dreaded moment had come. The moment when Amanda-Ann would realize the nature of her feelings for his employee.

Amanda-Ann nodded. Her father's apparent understanding suddenly made her want to explain her feelings in more detail. "I always thought that I would only ever have you, papa," she confessed. "But Erik, I mean Monsieur Erik, he is just as important to me. Or more, or not, but it's different," She shrugged, looking helplessly at her father.

"It is hard to describe," she confessed. "But with Erik I feel strong and confident. I feel whole. He accepts me, even though I am not as strong as other girls, though much stronger now with him than I used to be, and when he is here, I feel like... like I am walking on clouds and oh he is so strong! When he carried me in all those weeks ago, so that I would not get wet... I wish he would always be there to protect me and to teach me, to guard me and to guide me... Life is just bland and boring if he is not here!"

Mr. Stanton's brow furrowed. That was more serious than even he had expected. "You love him that much?" He asked gloomily.

"Love? I do not..." Amanda-Ann stopped in mid-sentence, as realization hit her. "Love," she whispered. "Is that what it is like to be in love? Yes, I guess, I do..."

She looked at her father and smiled. "I hadn't realized, but I do... love him." Now that she knew what her feelings for Erik were, she could not understand any more why it had taken her so long to realize it.

"Do you think Erik loves me as well?" she asked, but did not wait for her father's answer. "I am sure he loves me," she continued. "Erik is always so kind to me, he treats me like a lady, not like a stupid child, he... he would not do that if he did not love me, or would he?"

"He seems to care for you, but.." Mr. Stanton tried to get his daughter's attention.

Amanda-Ann did not listen. Her thoughts had just gone one step further. "Do you think," she asked shyly, "that Erik will... ask you for my hand in marriage? Would you allow it? Oh please, papa, I know he is only your employee, but I love him so much!" It felt so good to say it. She loved Erik, her Erik! Oh, how beautiful the world suddenly was, what an incredible turn her life had just taken!

"I fear Erik Givenould will not ask for your hand in marriage," Mr. Stanton interrupted his daughter's dream.

Amanda-Ann's face fell. It suddenly took on a greyish color. "Why not?" she asked nervously. "Do you think he does not love me? Have you already discouraged him? Is that why he is staying away?"

She was getting very agitated. Mr. Stanton knew he had to calm her, if he did not want her to succumb to a seizure. "Calm down, Amanda-Ann," he therefore tried to comfort her, "I just meant to say he might not ask because he does not want to be considered a fortune hunter that would only want you for your money."

Amanda-Ann laughed. "That would be a very stupid thing to believe!" she said. "We know that he loves me for myself!"

"But he is an honorable man," Mr. Stanton reminded his daughter. "And therefore he might harbor such concerns."

"Then we have to make him understand that we know his true motives and that he does not have to fear that we might think he loves my money more than me!" Amanda-Ann explained. "Do you think, papa, that you can explain that to him?"

Mr. Stanton sighed. The prospect of begging Erik to marry his daughter did not appeal to him, but since her health and happiness seemed to depend on it, he might have to do just that. And he realized that it had maybe been a mistake to shelter her as much as he had done, not to prepare her better for the sorrows life brings about. Despite her 17 years, she was still a child in many ways and ill prepared to deal with unrequited love. "I will see if I can find an opportunity to give him a hint," he therefore promised. "But give me time. It may take a while."

"Thank you, papa, you are the best!" Amanda-Ann was smiling again, dreaming of a future with her dear Erik.


	18. It's Over Now The Music Of The Night

I am back! Thank you all for your patience with me and my irregular updates. Thank you all for reading, for putting on alert, adding to favorites, but most of all for reviewing! I know it is hard to keep following a story when it is updated only once in a while. You guys truly rock for sticking with me! And it is your continued support that keeps me going.

Anyway, let's get on with the next chapter. I hope you won't be too mad at me! And keep in mind that I do not own these characters...sadly.

Chapter 18 – It's Over Now The Music Of The Night

Erik was in a bad mood. Or rather, in a terrible mood. To call it bad would have been the understatement of the century. He did not know anymore what to do, what to think, or even how to survive. He had not received one single letter from either his beloved Christine or his good friend Antoinette in months. At first he had tried to convince himself that the ladies were simply busy. After all, the Opéra Populaire would probably be preparing a new production and there might be strenuous rehearsals. One letter, maybe even two, could also have been lost in the mail somehow. But too much time had passed to explain away the ladies' continued silence in a logical way. Therefore it was obvious to Erik that something terrible must have happened that prevented the two of them from writing.

But what? Were they ill? But surely not both or them would be sick at the same time? At least one of them should be able to write and explain the situation. Could the Vicomte have something to do with the absence of letters? Had Christine succumbed to his advances and now was reluctant to tell Erik that she had chosen another? Was Antoinette maybe hesitant to inform him of this changed situation because she did not want to hurt him? Or was it not the Vicomte but some other handsome man, closer to Christine in age than he himself was? Or... Erik did not even dare think about that last possibility, but was it truly impossible that they both had died? An accident maybe?

More than once Erik came very close to packing his things and returning to Paris to find out himself what had happened, why Christine and Antoinette had stopped writing. But there was Nadir to consider as well. His good old friend, who was only slowly recovering from pneumonia, and who needed him, since Darius spoke next to no English and therefore would have been pretty lost without Erik. There was also the fact that even if his two companions had not needed him, Erik could not risk returning to France, where he was a wanted criminal, no to mention Erik's obligations towards Mr. Stanton. He could not really leave his boss during the last stages of preparation for the reopening of his theater.

Nadir had promised to go to Paris once he would be well enough to travel, but the Persian's recovery took longer than anticipated. The daroga was a creature of a hot and dry climate and thus ill equipped for the humid, foggy London weather. It might have been possible for Darius to travel to Paris, but even assuming that he could be convinced to leave his master if only for a few days, what good would that have done? Darius had never been to the Opéra Populaire before, he did not even know what either Christine or Antoinette looked like. So how would he be able to contact them? And even if he managed to talk to either one of them – would they believe he was truly sent by Erik? Wouldn't they suspect that a stranger approaching them was a trap, intent on making them give away the Phantom's whereabouts?

Erik groaned. Right now he could not even bury himself in his work, trying to take his mind off the constantly growing fear that something terrible must have happened to Christine and Antoinette. The reopening of "The Music House" had been a huge success, the performances of "L'Elisir d'Amore" were sold out every night, and it seemed as if they might have to prolong the run of this production. Therefore there was no need to start working on the next play yet. All he had to do was to see that the performances went smoothly, that any tiny damage to a costume or set piece was repaired immediately. Erik felt frustrated. He had a feeling as if he needed to do something, but at the same time he knew there was nothing he could do. He also had the nagging impression that he was running out of time, that whatever it was he should have done, should have been done weeks ago, that he was wasting valuable time, that he was somehow losing a battle.

Nadir's sudden gasp interrupted Erik's thoughts and reminded him of the situation that needed his immediate attention: his sick friend.

"What is it, Nadir?" Erik asked, trying not to betray his anxiety and fear, to sound cheerful for his friend's sake.

"Nothing," Nadir replied, closing the newspaper he had been reading a bit too quickly and trying a bit too obviously to hide it from Erik.

Erik sighed. "Don't lie, daroga," he told the older man. "It is obvious that you are hiding something. I know you too well. I can see that there is something troubling you. Is it something you read in that paper that you are trying to make disappear?"

"No, no," Nadir was quick to reply. "It is nothing, as I said. Really, Erik. Nothing at all." He was fidgeting so nervously while talking, though, that Erik knew he was not speaking the truth.

"You are lying again," Erik stated. "That is a fact, not speculation. So why are you keeping things from me? What is it that you try to prevent me from learning? It must have something to do with this paper. Hiding it from me will not keep me from learning the truth. All I need to do is go out and purchase another copy of this same newspaper. So will you show it to me now or not?"

"Please Erik," Nadir begged. "Do not ask me about it. Just forget it. For your own sake!"

"My own sake?" Erik roared. "What are you talking about, man? Now will you hand me that paper or not?"

"Here," Nadir gingerly held the page he had been reading out to Erik. "But do not say that I did not warn you!"

Erik grabbed the piece of paper and unfolded it. Then his eyes grew wide. He could not believe what he saw. He was staring at the society page of the publication, and there, almost over half the page was a huge ad, announcing that the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and the up and coming opera diva Christine Daaé, both of Paris, but with the intention of starting a cooperation with one or more London theaters soon, had been joined in holy matrimony in a private ceremony at the Vicomte's mansion the previous week.

A savage growl escaped Erik, as he finally understood the meaning of the printed words in front of him. "That unfaithful, perfidious bitch!" he exclaimed. "That shameless whore! Marrying a man who is well-known for his voracious sexual appetite and that will betray her with half of Paris, maybe even in her own home! Heck, he will probably make her watch or even participate in his orgies! But why would she care. He has a handsome face, money, a title and a position in society. He even is the Populaire's patron and thus able to provide her with starring roles. All she has to do in return is let him fondle her naked body and spread her legs for him! I wonder how she got him to marry her. He would certainly have promoted her career even if she had just shed her clothes for him and let him use her body."

He laughed. How bizarre! The woman he had been worried sick about was probably right now cavorting naked for a lascivious nobleman, seductively spreading her legs for a debauched womanizer, begging him to take her, satisfying his manly needs with hands and mouth as well.

"Idiot that I am!" he bellowed. "Thinking that she could love me! Me, the ugly, deformed, hunted down, wanted criminal! She wanted a man! She wanted lust! She must have been desperate since even I seemed acceptable to her! If only I had known what it was she wanted! But I did not give her the thrill she was looking for. I respected her as if she were a saint! And the moment I am out of the picture she starts looking for a man again. The Vicomte has always lusted for her. With me gone, she must have sold herself to him as the highest bidder. Heck, she probably would have left me for him even if I had stayed, for he is such a great catch. Except for his debauchery, but apparently she does not mind being a man's sex-toy."

He went on ranting, imagining the Vicomte and Christine engaging in the most perverted activities together and enjoying them. He did not even hear Nadir's weak attempts to calm him down. He paced up and down, raging, shaking his fists in agony, threatening the unfaithful woman one moment and the luckier rival the next.

Finally Erik broke down, collapsing to the floor, sobbing. Nadir, who had helplessly watched the scene of his friend's madness finally dared approaching Erik again.

He sat down on the floor next to Erik and put his arm around his friend. "You do not know what happened," he said soothingly. "He may have tricked her somehow. But be that as it may, keep in mind that even if you lost her, you are not alone. I will always be your friend, and Darius has grown quite fond of you since you have joined us in London. Also, for the first time in many years you have a job that you are good at and that you enjoy, a boss that respects you..."

Erik was numb. He did not listen. Not for a long while. Everything within him felt raw. He could not remember the last time he had felt so betrayed, had been in so much pain.

Nadir did not give up, though. He sat with Erik for hours, talking to him, comforting him, making him realize that life still had a lot to offer and that it would help nobody if he gave up on himself and life in general now.

Erik finally calmed down. He realized that Nadir was right, that he had to forget Christine and go on with his life. "Only if you let this development destroy you, will the Vicomte truly have won," Nadir had said, and Erik knew that this was true. He would not be defeated that easily. The Vicomte may have taken Christine away from him, but he would never ever be able to destroy Erik!

Xxxx

Erik excused himself from work for a few days, pretending to have caught a slight cold, in order to compose himself fully before returning to "The Music House" and face his employer and the various ensemble members again.

When he went back to work about a week later, he was surprised to find Mr. Stanton at the theater. "Are you staying for the evening performance?" Erik asked, trying to sound as relaxed as usual. "Will Miss Amanda-Ann be joining you?"

Mr. Stanton shook his head. "I need to talk to you, Givenould," he said, nervously fumbling with some sheet music. "In private. May we go to your office, please?"

Erik wondered what this was about. What was it his boss could possibly want to discuss with him in private? Was he maybe not happy with his work anymore? He began to feel nervous as well. But he just nodded politely and followed Mr. Stanton to his office.

Once there, Mr. Stanton seemed to grow even more embarrassed. He fell into a seat, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began wiping his forehead.

"I hope you will forgive my behavior, Givenould," he finally mumbled. "My intrusion into your private life."

Erik cocked his visible eyebrow. He had absolutely no idea what Mr. Stanton might be talking about.

"This is very... mortifying … awkward... for me," Stanton continued. "And I would not even dream about doing this if it were not for my daughter..."

"Is something the matter with Miss Amanda-Ann?" Erik asked, slightly worried. He did care for the sick girl, and it suddenly occurred to him that he had not seen her in a while. Was she maybe unwell? Was that the cause of Mr. Stanton's odd behavior?

Mr. Stanton shook his head. "No, not at all. That is..." He looked at Erik. "Before I continue, I have to ask you something, Givenould, and please forgive me, for this is a very private question and I have absolutely no right to ask you such a thing. But, please, for Heaven's sake, tell me, is there a woman in your life? Somebody you are seeing and maybe hoping for a future with her?"

Erik stared at the wall behind Mr. Stanton's head. His eyes suddenly held so much pain it tore at the older man's heart. Mr. Stanron bit his lip. Of course! How could he have been so stupid! He had forgotten about Erik's mask! Not every girly was like his daughter, seeing the mask as something that made him more her equal. Most other girls would not want anything to do with this man.

"I am sorry, forgive me," Stanton mumbled, trying to cover up his faux-pas. "I was not thinking, I did not mean to remind you..."

Erik did not even listen. "There was one once," he told the wall. "Back in France. We were planning to get married once I'd have made enough money that I could support a wife." He shook his head, trying to shake off the painful memory of Christine's betrayal at the same time. "She did not wait," he added matter-of-factly. "She married a handsome man with a face that does not need to be hidden underneath a mask."

Mr. Stanton took a deep breath. "I am sorry," he told Erik. Then he summoned all his courage and continued. "In that case, I have to tell you something." He took another deep breath. "Amanda-Ann is missing you a lot," he informed Erik. "She keeps asking when you will pay us a visit again. She... has fallen in love with you."

Erik's eyes widened in shock. "I cannot see her again," he declared. "I am sorry, I did not want to bring disturbance to your home and pain to Miss Amanda-Ann. I will stay away from now on. Surely her feelings cannot be that deep yet that she cannot overcome her infatuation with me... After all, she is still a child."

Mr. Stanton shook his head. "No, Givenould – Erik - it is too late for that. She is no child, I know she looks younger than she is, but she is seventeen and she has lost her heart to you, and she is suffering from your absence. Please, stop by more regularly again and see her, and …. I know this is a lot to ask of you, but since your heart is free, and it won't be for long anyway, since she has only a few more years left, ..." His voice trailed, suddenly aware of the enormity of what he was asking of Erik.

Erik gasped. "You cannot mean what I think you are saying," he whispered. "You cannot possibly be asking me to... to..."

"To marry my daughter, yes," Mr. Stanton confirmed. "I know that you do not love her, but I think you like her and care for her enough that you can make her happy. It will only be a fake happiness, true, but she need not know. She has grown weaker over the past couple of weeks, pining for you. If you stay away now or tell her that you do not return her feelings, she will probably get worse, die prematurely of a broken heart. But if you could find it in you to propose to her, marry her and give her a short period of happiness, even if it's only a fake one, then I will bless you as my daughter's savior."

Erik stared ahead, speechless. Should he accept this offer? Could he? Was it right to lie to Amanda-Ann, to pretend loving her? Would that not be a betrayal similar to what Christine had done to him?

"I would give her "The Music House" as part of her dowry," Mr. Stanton continued. "That way, the theater would be yours. As her husband you could run it for her, and later on..." He could not make himself talk about the fact that his daughter would not live much longer. "Then the theater would be yours," he simply stated.

Erik sighed. "The theater does not enter into this," he said firmly. "If I do it, I won't do it because of the theater. I cannot deny that I care for Miss Amanda-Ann, and I have a feeling as if it could be very satisfying to be there for her, protect her, and try my best to make her happy. But... is it right to make her believe in my love, when all I feel for her is the love for a young child or a little sister? And..." He blushed furiously. "I do not... fancy her in that way." What he was trying to express in such a delicate way was that he did not desire Amanda-Ann. But he could not talk about her in a sexual context to her father, or could he?

"I understand," Mr. Stanton said, turning a similar shade of red. "But there cannot be any children anyway, because of her condition, and also because she would most likely pass it on to a child as well. So maybe if you told her that you have to wait till she gets a bit stronger?" He hesitated. "You would not have any problems holding her, kissing her?"

Erik looked down. It would not be the same as it had been with Christine, but holding Amanda-Ann in his arms, keeping her safe, protecting her, did not sound too bad to him. And if she did not expect too passionate a kiss, he might be able to give her that as well. "I think I can do that," he mumbled. Then he looked Mr. Stanton straight in the eyes. "Thank you, Monsieur," he said, "for your trust. For considering me worthy of your precious daughter and laying her future into my hands."

He swore to himself that he would do his best to make Amanda-Ann happy. After all, he knew from proper experience how much it hurt to have your heart broken by the person you love most in the world. He would make sure that sweet, little Amanda-Ann would not have to go through a similar experience. And... that way his life would have a new meaning, a new purpose again. There was somebody out there that needed him, somebody that ached for his presence. Maybe there was a reason for his wretched existence after all. Maybe he was meant to bring happiness to a weak, dying girl.

"If you have no objection I will come for lunch next Sunday, as I used to," Erik told Mr. Stanton. "And then I will... ask Miss Amanda-Ann..."

Mr. Stanton smiled. "Don't wait that long, Erik," he said. "Let me call you by your first name from now on, since you will soon be my son-in-law. Don't wait that long. Come tomorrow. We do not know how much time my child still has. Let us work together to make whatever time is left to her as happy and full of light as possible!"


	19. Say You Love Me

Thank you all so much for your continued support! It is always great to see you all hitting on y new chapter (hopefully also reading it), to see you add my story to your favorites or put it on alert, and most of all, to read your reviews - even if you are not too happy with the way my story is going at the moment. This time I want to thank garasu-no-kamen in particular for having faith in me and my obvious E/C-shipping! Yes, I promise that our couple will find the way to each other in the end, but it's a bumpy road.

Anyway, on to our story and the next chapter, and keep in mind that I do not own these characters...

Chapter 19 – Say You Love Me

When Mr. Stanton arrived at home that day, he quickly went to his daughter's room. Amanda-Ann was so listless nowadays, so very pale, and her eyes were constantly looking out of the window onto the city streets, hoping against hope to see the man who had stolen her heart come to her.

"Don't look so gloomy," Mr. Stanton said, sitting down next to his daughter on the large settee. "Or I won't tell you who is coming for lunch tomorrow!"

Amanda-Ann looked up. "Lunch? Tomorrow?" she asked hesitantly, then, as she noticed her father's smile she was suddenly filled with hope. "Erik?" she asked shyly.

"Who else?" Mr. Stanton teased her. "He is eager to talk to you about something of great importance. But you must promise me to be very strong tomorrow, not to faint with happiness!"

"Erik...," Amanda-Ann's pale little face lit up, and a slight blush crept into her cheeks. "Is he... does he... ?"

"Yes," her father nodded. "He does want to propose to you, and he cannot wait till Sunday, now that I made him understand that we wouldn't consider him a gold-digger if he dared ask for your hand."

"I knew it!"Amanda-Ann's whole face was smiling now, and a feeling of warmth permeated her whole body. He loved her! Her Erik loved her! Tomorrow he would be here, he would ask her, she would say yes, and then she would be in his arms, in his strong, comforting arms! Oh, how wonderful this would be! And soon, they would be together, always! Of course he would have to go to work, but he would come to her every evening, they would have their meals together and sleep in the same bed. The mere thought of so much future happiness made her feel stronger, healthier. At Erik's side she would soon overcome her condition and become a strong and healthy wife to him!

XXX

The next day, Erik bought a bouquet of light-red roses, actually more a dark pink than a light red. He knew that as his bride-to-be Amanda-Ann had the right to receive the red roses of love from him, but he could not get himself to buy for her the exquisite dark-red ones he had always chosen for Christine. The lighter color suited Amanda-Ann better anyway, since her own features were of such a delicate complexion. The darker roses would have made her look even paler.

When Erik arrived at the Stantons' home, his employer greeted him and lead him right into the parlor, where Amanda-Ann was anxiously awaiting his arrival. She felt so invigorated by Erik's visit, that she even stood up when he entered the room and walked a few steps to meet him half-way.

"Please, do sit down again," Erik pleaded with her, nervous that she might overexert herself. "You must rest. Your father has told me you have not been well..."

Amanda-Ann beamed at this open display of concern for her health. How wonderful it was, that he loved her so! "Papa has been exaggerating," she whispered. "I am strong now, almost as strong as other women."

Mr. Stanton cleared his throat. "I think the two of you have something important to discuss," he stated. "I will... leave you alone for a while. But, Amanda-Ann, Erik is right, you should sit down again. I have a feeling you will soon need your strength for a... celebration..." With that he sneaked out of the room.

Amanda-Ann sat down again and looked up to Erik expectantly. Erik felt nervous. It was hard to lie to those trusting eyes of her. How could he deceive this young child-woman like that?

He inhaled deeply, then said. "Miss Amanda-Ann, your father has given me hope that you might be inclined to accept my proposal and become my wife." There, he had said it. He had proposed to her, without speaking of love. He had not lied to her.

Amanda-Ann beamed at him. "Did papa really have to tell you that?" she asked, smiling. "Didn't you feel it, that I would like nothing better than to marry you?"

Erik felt uncomfortable. It was obvious to him now that Mr. Stanton had been right, that this young woman, with the underdeveloped body of a sick girl was deeply in love with him. A love totally different from what he felt for her. And he once again asked himself if he had the right to pretend to her that he loved her.

"I... well,...," he stammered, until he finally remembered something that needed to be addressed before he could bind her to him forever. "My face," he confessed. "I was not sure ..."

"You thought your mask might put me off in some way?" Amanda-Ann asked incredulously. "It's what made me love you, in a way. For it put you somehow on the same level as me. You are not getting a normal wife in me either, Erik. If you can love me despite my occasional weakness, why should I not be able to love you despite your face?"

"You have not seen it yet," Erik reminded her.

Amanda-Ann smiled at him. "But now you will show me?" she begged. "I know it must be rather ghastly, or you would not hide behind that mask, which seems to be very uncomfortable. It won't make a difference for me, for I love you for the person you are, for your understanding and caring, your vast knowledge and your interest in theater and music. But as your future wife I have the right to see your face as it is."

Erik squirmed. "I do not want to frighten you," he mumbled. "Scare you, shock you, disgust you. It would give you nightmares. I could never forgive myself if you would suffer any ill effects from having seen my disgusting face."

"I won't be disgusted or scared," Amanda-Ann whispered., then laughed. "Father thought you were not proposing to me because you were afraid of being considered a gold-digger. But now I have the feeling, you were hesitant to ask me, because you thought I might be disgusted by your face! As if I could ever be disgusted by anything coming from you!"

"Come," she cooed. "Sit down next to me. Let me hold your hand to give you courage, and then we will take that stupid thing off together and I will see your true face."

Erik gingerly sat down next to her. This was not at all how he had expected things to go. He had thought he would be the one to care for her and protect her, now it was Amanda-Ann offering him comfort, trying to give him strength.

Amanda-Ann snuggled up to him. "Don't be so stiff and nervous, my love," she whispered into Erik's ear, "just let's get it over and done with. You will see, it will be fine!"

Erik sighed. What could he do? He did not want to expose himself so in front of her, but deep down he knew that if he was truly going to marry her, she had the right to know his face. And if he was lying to her about his feelings, at the very least he had to tell her – show her – the truth about his appearance. He quickly raised his arms to his face and removed the mask, waiting for her scream of horror, which never came.

What was the matter? Had the frail young girl fainted when confronted with the ugliness that was his face? Erik turned to Amanda-Ann and found her smiling at him. "You did it!" she whispered, in wonder. "It cannot have been easy for you, but you actually had the courage to show me your true self, to trust me with this last secret between us. Oh, how you must love me, Erik, if you could give me this precious gift, this ultimate proof of your trust!"

"You are not disgusted?" Erik asked nervously.

"Why should I be?" Amanda-Ann raised her fingers to the marred flesh at his temple and cheek and began to slowly trace his cheekbones. "I am finally seeing the face of my fiancé, of the man I love and will soon be married to!"

Erik relaxed somewhat. This had gone far better than he had imagined. Amanda-Ann now believed in his love, even though he had not spoken one word of love to her.

Her little finger had now reached his mouth, teasing his lips. "I love you so much," she confessed. "I would have died if you had not asked me to become your wife!"

"Do you love me as well?" Amanda-Ann asked, then giggled."Of course you do," she continued. "You would never have shown me your face if you didn't. You would not have made yourself so vulnerable in front of me, if you did not trust me completely. But I do so love to hear you tell me, that you love me too!"

"I... you know that you are so very, very dear to me," Erik explained, putting his arms around her. He swore to himself that he would keep her safe, protect her always and keep all the ugly sides of life away from her.

"Will you kiss me then?" Amanda-Ann asked, blushing deeply for being so brazen.

Erik obediently lowered his head towards her face and touched his lips to hers. It was more a brotherly kiss than a lover's one and nothing compared to the kisses he had shared with Christine, but for Amanda-Ann it was her first kiss ever. She had nothing to compare it with. But she liked it. Erik's lips upon hers had an electrifying effect on her. She would have wanted a few more kisses, but her father chose that very moment to return. He could not wait any longer to congratulate the happy couple.

Erik quickly turned away from the door and fastened his mask to his face again. Mr. Stanton grinned. He had not really got a glimpse of Erik's face but the fact that the latter had showed it to Amanda-Ann gave him hope that this union would be a very happy one after all. If Givenould had mustered the courage to show Amanda-Ann his disfigured face, he must trust her immensely. Maybe the man cared more for his daughter than he himself realized.

"So, how are things going?" he asked jovially. "Are congratulations in order?"

"Oh papa!" Amanda-Ann threw herself into her father's arms. "Erik loves me, and he has asked me to be his wife, and I said yes!"

"So, so," Mr. Stanton commented. "And I take it, you love him as well?"

Amanda-Ann blushed. She looked from Erik to her father and back to Erik again. "More than my life," she confessed.

Mr. Stanton guided her back to the sofa, then turned to Erik. "My daughter has chosen wisely," he informed Erik. "You have my blessing, son. Have the two of you already set a date?"

Erik and Amanda-Ann looked at each other, uncertain what to say.

Mr. Stanton laughed. "You have been too busy kissing, it seems, and thus forgotten to talk about the most important things. Well, if you ask me, Erik, you have wasted enough time already, fearing that we might consider you a gold-digger, so how about we ask Father Jonathan to read the banns starting next Sunday. I am sure he will come here for the actually wedding ceremony, since a ceremony at church would be too strenuous for you, my dear."

Amanda-Ann tried to protest, reminding him how strong she now was, now that she was sure of Erik's love, but Mr. Stanton would have none of it, and to her shock, Erik supported her father. "It may be true that you are stronger now, Amanda-Ann," he said, "but that means that we have to be grateful for your progress and have to avoid everything that could cause a relapse."

Amanda-Ann made a face, called both men "tyrants", but in the end agreed to have the wedding at home at the earliest possible date. After all, Erik had just addressed her by her given name alone, not as "Miss Amanda-Ann", and that display of intimacy made her so happy that she simply had to give in.

Especially the prospect of getting married to Erik within just a few weeks pleased her. She had missed him so much and now that she knew he felt the same way about her, she could not wait to have him around always.

Amanda-Ann smiled up at her fiancé. "At first I did not realize that what I was feeling for you was love," she confessed. "For I have never been in love with anybody before. Except for papa, of course, but that is different." She laughed happily, then turned to Erik again. "But I am only seventeen, so I guess it is not surprising that you are my first and only love, Erik," she continued. "But you, you are older and I realize there might have been … I mean, have you ever loved another woman before me?"

"There was one once," Erik said slowly, his heart still aching at the thought that Christine was lost to him. "Back home in France. She did not wait for me and married a handsome man who does not have to hide his face behind a mask."

He sounded so sad that Amanda-Ann's heart went out to him. "That must have hurt you so much, my love," she said, reaching for his hand. "But if she was such a superficial girl that she could not see beyond the mask and see the wonderful man that you are, she did not deserve you anyway, and she would not have been able to make you happy."

Erik sighed. Maybe Amanda-Ann was right. Maybe Christine would not have deserved him. Maybe marrying Amanda-Ann was the better choice. She was looking up to him with so much concern and compassion that it warmed his lonely heart. "Your love will make me forget the pain she caused me," he told her. "Your little hand will be the healing balm upon my heart and your caresses will bring me happiness she could never have given me." And he looked deep into his young bride's eyes, making her blush under the intensity of his stare.

Xxxx

A few weeks later, Raoul got a letter from his detective, informing him that Mr. Stanton's employee Erik Givenould, the artistic director of "The Music House", had tied the knot with Stanton's daughter.

Raoul licked his lips as he read this. Only now Christine was truly his. Now, that his rival was honor-bound to another woman. Now he would not have to fear anymore that once Meg would be able to dance again, his young wife with the delicious body would want to divorce him. Now she was his for all eternity. Now he could fondle her firm little breasts without having to fear that the monster would one day steal her away. Now he could touch her wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, use her body in any way he saw fit, now she was at his mercy. No rival would ever stand up to him and claim her.

But... Raoul bit his lips. He knew that Christine did not love him. She did not even seem to enjoy his caresses. She merely endured his love-making. Somehow he had the feeling as if she were still hoping for some way to get out of this marriage. He needed to show her that it was useless to think that way, that there was no other future for her than with him. She needed to see that her beast was happily married to another.

He remembered his previous plan of cooperation with other theaters. Maybe if he went to London in order to contact some of the potential managers... if he took Christine with him, if he made her attend a function at the Stanton/Givenould household, if she could see her... that _thing_ with his young wife, she would hopefully finally realize that the Phantom had abandoned her, would she not?

Raoul grinned. Yes, that was the way to go. He must force a meeting between Christine and that freak, in a setting where they would not be able to talk to each other much. He decided to write a few letters to owners and managers of London theaters. He had to make sure he would be well received in London before he could plan to take Christine there for the confrontation with her former lover.

Within the next few days most of his letters received a favorable reply, offering him appointments in London to hear more about this intriguing cooperation that he had suggested. To his satisfaction, one of those replies was from one Carl Stanton, informing him that he and his son-in-law Erik Givenould, who also happened to be the artistic director and soon-to-be manager of "The Music House" would be delighted to discuss this great business opportunity with him.

Erik knew nothing about Raoul's letter and business proposal. Right after his wedding to Amanda-Ann, which had been a very small, private ceremony at Mr. Stanton's house, with just a few distant relatives of the Stantons' and Erik's friend Nadir attending, Mr. Stanton had ordered Erik to take a few weeks of leave from work and spend some time with his new wife, so that the couple could have some sort of honeymoon, for it would have obviously been too exhausting for Amanda-Ann to travel anywhere.

Therefore Mr. Stanton himself had been handling Erik's business mail. Of course he had no idea who the Vicomte de Chagny was, other than what Raoul had mentioned in his letter, namely that he was the patron of the Opéra Populaire in Paris and his wife had been a highly acclaimed diva before their wedding. As a Vicomtesse, she could of course not perform in public in France again, but maybe a recital for her could be arranged in London, while they would be there to discuss their future cooperation.


	20. Silent Tears

Hi everybody,

I hope you are still sticking with me, even though I am currently putting our couple through the wringer... Please keep reading, keep putting on alert, adding to favorites and, most of all, keep reviewing. It is your support what keeps me going!

This chapter is slightly longer than normal, I simply could not find a way to cut it down to usual length. I hope you will enjoy it! And keep in mind, I do not own those characters...

Chapter 20 – Silent Tears

"Lotte, I have a wonderful surprise for you!" Raoul announced to his wife. "You will be able to perform again!"

Christine's eyes betrayed no emotion as she looked up from the book she had been reading. She had learned in the few weeks of her marriage to keep all her feelings under control and to always appear calm and composed, almost a bit cold and unfeeling.

"I do not understand," she said slowly, her voice even. "You told me yourself that it is a definite no-go for a Vicomtesse to display herself shamelessly upon a stage." Those had been Raoul's very own words when he had informed her that she had to quit the Opéra Populaire after the production of "Le Nozze di Figaro" had run its course. He had had the guts to call her performing a shameless display, as if she had behaved improperly on stage. He of all people had dared to use the word "shameless"! He, who liked nothing better than to see her naked and to grope her in the most vulgar ways.

Raoul grinned. "Of course not here, Lotte," he assured her. "That would cause a scandal. But I have been exploring a few opportunities. You know that as a patron of the Opéra Populaire I have been planning to organize an exchange of productions with other theaters. I have been working on that project recently. We are going to London, Lotte. I will talk to the people in charge of theaters, and you will be able to do a concert in the meantime."

"London?" Christine almost lost her cold composure. London... That's where Erik was. Erik, whom her heart could not forget and still longed for. Erik, who had betrayed her, abandoned her for another, a woman who brought him a theater as her dowry.

"Yes, Lotte," Raoul continued, observing her reaction as he landed his final blow. "London. I have already made appointments with the managers and secured your concert with one of them, a place called "The Music House". I thought it would please you to see your former teacher again, this Monsieur Givenould."

Christine closed her eyes for a second to hide her shock. Erik! If Raoul met him, he would know that Erik Givenould was the Phantom, the one he had tried to have put on the wanted list for murdering Buquet. Fortunately, the police had not been convinced it was not a case of self-defense and had dropped the case. But if Raoul recognized Erik, would that not put Erik in danger? Would Raoul not try to harm him?

She composed herself and said coldly, "I have not seen Monsieur Givenould in a very long time, true. But then, we were not that close, he was just my teacher."

Raoul laughed. "If I did not know better, you could have fooled me, you little minx!" he said. "You are worried, for even though he has dropped you like a hot potato when he had the chance to marry a rich heiress, your heart still beats for him. You are worried sick that I might discover who he really is, that ugly, disfigured freak!"

Christine paled. "I do not know, what you are talking about," she whispered, trying in vain to keep her hands still.

"Oh, don't lie!" Raoul replied. "I know it all. He is the ugly monster that used to extort money from André and Firmin, who murdered Buquet. And he is the man of your perverted sexual phantasies. I am sorry that I am not such a savage beast as he is that can fully satisfy your appetite, Lotte, but I am trying my best. And don't worry. I won't hurt him. At least not as long as you keep your distance and do not try to get back into his favor again. Show him that cold composure that you always give me, then he will be safe. Of course it cannot hurt to keep me in a good mood, Lotte," he added, reaching for the buttons of her blouse.

Christine gave him an icy look, but quickly helped him unbutton her blouse then leaned back to give him better access. There was no point in fighting him, not when so much depended on her obedience. So she offered her breasts to the touch of his fingers and mouth.

She did it for Erik, she realized, even more so than for Meg. Erik had betrayed her and hurt her in the most cruel way, and yet... As much as she tried to convince herself that a man who had treated her as poorly as he had done should be as good as dead for her, that she should not waste even one thought on such an unfaithful scoundrel, she could not forget him and her heart still longed for him. To keep him safe, to make sure Raoul would be happy enough with her to leave Erik alone, she let him do with her as he pleased.

"You will not try to flirt with Givenould?" Raoul asked, his fingers kneading Christine's breasts so hard that it hurt, then lowering his mouth to one of them and teasing the nipple with his tongue while his hand reached under her skirt.

Christine felt like hitting him hard for the way he treated her, but she remained calm. She did not want to give Raoul reason to complain about her, for then Erik might suffer. Oh Erik! Why could he not have been faithful! Why did he have to abandon her, so that she could fall prey to this shamelessly debauched man in front of her that now was her husband.

"Of course not," she said coldly. "I would never sink as low as trying to attract another woman's husband, and of course, I also know my duties as your wife. I will do nothing that could tarnish the honor of the de Chagny-name"

Xxxx

It was Erik's first day back at work after his so-called honey-moon. He had to admit that his marriage was not as bad as he had feared it might turn out. He did care for his young wife in his own way, and her obvious adoration and love was like a healing balm on his broken heart. True, Amanda-Ann was no Christine. He would never be able to love his wife as much as he had loved that heartless wench that had sworn her love and faithfulness to him only to give herself to the rich and handsome Vicomte not too long after he, Erik, had had to leave Paris.

Christine! The pain she had caused him with her betrayal still burned in him like an open wound. He would have bet his life on the sincerity of her love! How could those beautiful eyes of hers have deceived him so? He remembered the way she had looked at him that last night, when he had left Paris, so full of love, so sad because of their separation, so worried about him. How could all this have been a lie? How could she have forgotten him so quickly?

Erik shook his head. No, there was no point in remembering the past. That chapter of his life was over. He must forget Christine, the sooner,the better. He had a loving wife now, who truly cared for him and appreciated him for who he was. It was wrong to still long for Christine, when such an angel as Amanda-Ann had blessed him with her love. She deserved his love more than Christine.

"As you can see, everything went well during your absence," his father-in-law interrupted Erik's thoughts. They had attended a rehearsal so that Erik could get an idea of how the theater was running. He had not been particularly attentive, but then, the play was mostly routine now, and everybody knew exactly what was expected of them.

A stagehand approached Mr. Stanton and whispered something into his ear. Stanton immediately stood and turned to Erik. "I almost forgot, we have an appointment in your office," he informed his son-in-law. "Apparently the gentleman has just arrived. It is about an interesting business proposal, a collaboration with another theater. Let's go and hear, what he has to say. Erik, as Amanda-Ann's husband you are now the manager of the theater, and you will of course have the final say in this, but I think it might be a good chance for us to do more productions per year. Amanda-Ann would certainly love that. She has not seen too many operas yet, but she is always eager to get to know new plays."

Erik nodded and followed his father-in-law to the office. He had no clue what kind of collaboration between theaters this caller could possibly suggest, and he was rather skeptical, but it could not hurt to see what this gentleman had to propose.

When Erik entered the office right behind Mr. Stanton, his eyes widened and he grasped for the door frame to steady himself. There, in the office, were the last two people he had expected to see. Seated in the comfortable armchair, dressed in an expensive green dress which made her dark brown eyes glow like liquid lava, was Christine, and behind her, his hand possessively on her shoulder, stood de Chagny.

"Bonjour, welcome!" Carl Stanton greeted the visitors. "Monsieur le Vicomte, Madame!" He bowed his head to Raoul, then took Christine's extended hand and raised it to his lips. "I am Carl Stanton, and this is my son-in-law Erik Givenould."

Erik now approached as well. He thanked God that with some financial support from his new family he had been able to acquire the expensive materials necessary for the fabrication of a lifelike mask, and that thanks to this new cover he looked more or less normal. It was therefore doubtful that de Chagny would recognize him as the so-called "Phantom". Christine of course knew who he was. How would she react?

His heart beat faster. How beautiful she was! Yet now, that his father-in-law had introduced him, and she turned to look at him, he almost gasped. Her eyes that moments before had seemed so vivid, now were lifeless. Christine almost looked through him, as if he were thin air, when she extended her hand to him as well. Erik looked at her coldly. He did take her hand, but raised it nowhere near his lips. There was still a good inch between them and Christine's hand when he released her.

Christine needed to summon all her strength to keep up her cool composure. Her heart quivered at the sight of Erik. What would she have given if she could have jumped up and thrown herself into his arms! But that was over now, had to be over now, for Erik had betrayed her, he belonged to another woman, just like she belonged to another man. His coldness hurt her more than she had expected. She wanted to hate him – and couldn't.

"Messieurs," she said, her voice as cold as ice, "I am pleased to meet you."

"As you should, Christine, ma chérie," Raoul chimed in, bowing down to her and kissing her hair. "You see, Monsieur Stanton has promised to let you do a recital at this theater."

Erik inhaled deeply. He knew he could not make a scene, and if he was honest, he would love to hear Christine sing again, but he had to think of Amanda-Ann as well. After all, she was the true owner of the theater. Could he allow that shameless wench who had sold herself to the Vicomte to profane their stage?

He therefore turned to his father-in-law, frowning. "Was this not a bit of a hasty promise?" he asked sarcastically. "Madame is a Vicomtesse, and as far as I remember, ladies of the aristocracy may pursue music as a hobby, and some of them even perform at private soirées, but that does not necessarily mean they are on the same level as trained performers. We have only just begun to make a name for ourselves..."

Christine almost fainted. How could he say such things about her? He of all people should know that her voice was more than up to the challenge, even though she might be a bit out of practice, since Raoul had not allowed her to sing at home.

"Monsieur, I assure you that my dear wife is an accomplished opera singer," Raoul chimed in, very pleased with the way Christine and Erik were obviously trying their best to hurt each other. "I confess that I selfishly stole away the Opéra Populaire's most promising star, when I married my dear Christine. But our love was just too strong, was it not, my love?"

Christine nodded. She was not able to speak.

"But if you have doubts, Monsieur... Givenould," Raoul spat out Erik's last name, as if it were some insult. "Maybe we can proceed to your stage and Christine can give you a sample of her art, right, chérie?"

"Of course," Christine managed to say and stood. "If you would please show me the way?"

Raoul was immediately at her side, putting his arm around her middle to guide her. Even though Erik turned to lead the way he could not help but notice that Raoul's hand was not exactly lying on Christine's hip, but a bit lower down, on her buttock.

On stage, Christine sang Susanna's aria from "Le Nozze di Figaro" and Mr. Stanton was blown away. Even Erik had to admit that there was very little he could complain about, she had sung it almost flawlessly.

"Madame,you were stupendous!" Carl Stanton exclaimed. "Erik, what do you say? Was I right to organize that recital or not?"

"I guess we can risk it," Erik grudgingly agreed. He had tried his best to keep Christine away from their theater, but it had been in vain. After her display of talent there was no reason left to object to her recital.

"You must have dinner with us," Carl Stanton continued. "My daughter appreciates good music and I am sure she will love to meet you, Madame. Of course you as well, Monsieur," he hastily added, grinning at Raoul apologetically.

Erik felt like struck down by a flash of lightning. Christine in their home? The Vicomte's shameless whore and his pure, innocent wife? He could not allow it!

"Will that not be a bit too exhausting for Amanda-Ann, father?" he therefore tried to prevent such a disastrous meeting between the two women. He had to protect Amanda-Ann. After all, how could he know what that snake Christine, who had obviously found a way to introduce herself into his life again after she had sold herself to the Vicomte, could tell his innocent white dove? What if Christine told Amanda-Ann of her former engagement to Erik? What if Amanda-Ann then feared that Christine had come to win him back?

"Oh Erik, don't worry so much," Mr. Stanton replied. "Our Amanda-Ann may be of delicate health, but music has always had an invigorating influence on her. I am sure, she would love to meet Madame de Chagny. Maybe we can then also discuss the program of the recital, which arias Madame would like to sing and in what order."

"That would be excellent!" Raoul agreed. "We would be delighted to meet Madame Givenould, n'est-ce pas, chérie?" he asked Christine.

Christine had no desire whatsoever to meet that rival of hers, the woman that had managed to lure Erik into her trap by offering him a theater. But she also knew that she could not risk upsetting Raoul, who obviously wanted to accept this dinner invitation. For whatever he had done to her, and how poorly he had treated her this afternoon, she still did not want Erik to get in trouble with the police. If she wanted to avoid such a scenario, she had to do what Raoul wanted.

She therefore said with a forced smile, "I would indeed be pleased to meet your esteemed daughter, Monsieur Stanton, and as you suggested, we could discuss my performance."

Erik sighed. The inevitable was about to happen. He had no idea how he could protect Amanda-Ann.

Xxxx

When Amanda-Ann learned that a potential future business partner of theirs was coming to dinner with his wife, an extraordinary soprano, as her father assured her, she was excited.

"Do you think she will sing for us tonight?" she asked her father and husband. "I would so love to hear her as well! And you just _have_ to allow me to come to her recital!"

"We'll see about that," Erik tried to stop her enthusiasm. "Maybe you won't like her, once you meet her. She seemed very cold to me." And inwardly he prayed that Christine would leave his wife alone, would not disturb Amanda-Ann's peace.

When Raoul and Christine arrived, Amanda-Ann greeted their guests very warmly and invited Christine to sit down next to her on the sofa.

"My father told me what a wonderful singer you are, Madame," Amanda-Ann chattered. "I would love to hear you sing later. And I am so looking forward to your recital."

Christine was shocked. Erik's wife was not at all what she had expected. She had come prepared to hate her rival, the woman that had stolen from her the man she loved, had bought him with a theater. But when she saw Amanda-Ann, her hatred dissipated. No, she could not hate that woman. Whatever had made Erik leave her for Amanda-Ann, it could not have been this frail girl's doing, of that she was certain.

"I am happy to grant your wish, Madame Givenould," she therefore said, more warmly than she had intended.

"Oh, how sweet of you!" Amanda-Ann exclaimed happily. "I already like you. I think we will get along very well, which we should, since our husbands will be business partners. I have never had a girlfriend before. Maybe you and I could become friends?"

Christine smiled. "I would be honored of your friendship," she replied.

Mr. Stanton then asked them to proceed to the dining room. He offered his arm to Christine, who, after a look at Raoul to make sure he was fine with that situation, took it. Raoul then gallantly approached Amanda-Ann, but Erik was first. "I will lead my wife myself," he announced, helping her up from the sofa and leading her to the table.

Christine noticed the way how Erik looked at his wife, so full of devotion, of fondness. He obviously cared deeply for this frail child-woman. But he did not look at Amanda-Ann the way he had looked at her all those months ago, so full of love. And while it filled her with satisfaction that what Erik had once felt for her must have been deeper and stronger than what he felt for his wife, she also could not help but feel compassion for this woman who obviously adored Erik but did not possess his heart the way she had possessed it.

After dinner, Mr. Stanton invited Raoul and Erik into the library for a glass of port and maybe a cigar. "You will retire to the parlor with Madame de Chagny, my dear," he told Amanda-Ann. "We won't leave the two of you alone for long, I promise."

"You should rest, Amanda-Ann," Erik told her. "Sit down, close your eyes a bit. I am sure Madame will want to prepare for her song with which she will grace us later." He had no desire to leave Amanda-Ann alone with Christine, but he could not well stay behind with them.

"Is your husband such a tyrant as well, Madame de Chagny?" Amanda-Ann asked Christine, sighing. "I used to be a bit weak, and because of that my father and my husband treat me like a raw egg and won't allow me to do anything that could tire me out. But I am not that weak anymore, I am strong now!"

"I am sure, your husband and father mean well," Christine replied, deeply moved by the young woman's problems.

Then she turned to Mr. Stanton, pointedly ignoring Erik. "I assure you that I am feeling a bit tired as well, I won't exhaust Madame Givenould, since I would like to rest a bit as well. You gentlemen go and enjoy your wine and cigars, we will be fine!"

Both Raoul and Erik gave her a worried look. Neither was sure leaving her alone with Amanda-Ann was a good idea. Both of them feared what she might tell her rival. But the women smiled reassuringly, so the men followed Mr. Stanton to the library.

Xxxx

When Amanda-Ann and Christine reached the parlor, Amanda-Ann once again asked Christine to sit down next to her on the sofa.

"And now tell me a bit," Amanda-Ann begged. "You have been a singer? You have actually performed on a stage? What was it like? What plays did you perform in?"

She sat down comfortably and listened to Christine telling her about the Opéra Populaire, how she had lived in the ballet dormitories after her father's death, about her friend Meg and Meg's mother, the ballet mistress, how she had had singing lessons with a very talented teacher, and when the prima donna had cancelled a performance – Christine left out the detail about the dropped piece of scenery – she had been able to step in.

"That must have been so exciting!" Amanda-Ann exclaimed. "I wish I were strong enough to sing! Maybe in a few years. I love music so. Papa even bought the theater for me, and he hired Erik, ..."

Her eyes took on a dreamy glance. "Hiring Erik was the best thing papa ever did," she confessed. "For that was how I met my husband. I fell in love with him immediately, he is so talented."

Christine needed all her strength to remain composed. She remembered days when she herself had had similar thoughts about Erik, when she had hoped for a future with him.

"I am so grateful to papa for hiring Erik," Amanda-Ann prattled on. "But maybe I should rather be grateful to a French girl."

"How so?" Christine was not quite sure what the young woman was talking about.

"Because my Erik had already loved another girl before me, back home in France, where he is from," Amanda-Ann explained. "But she cannot have loved him very much. She did not wait for him and married another man."

Christine's eyes suddenly filled with tears. So that's what Erik had told his wife. That she had not waited for him and married another, when it had been him who had gotten engaged to this girl long before Raoul had shown her that compromising flyer.

"Oh, Madame de Chagny, I am sorry," Amanda-Ann continued. "I made you cry with this sad story. I know, it is very moving. It makes me want to cry as well, just to think about how heartless this woman must have been. But I am grateful to her, for if she had been faithful, my Erik would doubtlessly now be married to her, he would never have come here, and I would never have met him."

Christine nodded. "I am such a romantic," she confessed, "I even cry when I perform in a tragedy." Then she mumbled, "maybe we should both rest now, I am a bit tired as well, and I will have to sing later..."

When the men returned about half an hour later, they found both ladies leaning back, their eyes closed, dozing.

In the presence of her husband, Christine quickly found her composure again. She made a few polite remarks, and finally sang a Swedish folksong for Amanda-Ann, who was enthralled.

Once the de Chagnys had left, Amanda-Ann smiled at her husband. "I do not understand how such a nice woman like Madame de Chagny could marry this Vicomte," she said. "They are not a good match at all. He is a very authoritative man, and sometimes he looks at her as if he were undressing her in his mind. But her, she is such a nice person..."

"She probably married him for his title," Erik said coldly. "Or his money, or both. She probably did not want to remain a singer for the rest of her life."

Amanda-Ann laughed. "No, Erik, you are mistaken. She is nothing like that. She is a very warm and caring person, and money and a title mean nothing to her, I am certain of that."


	21. Think of Me

Hi everybody,

I am sorry for the delay. I had hoped to be able to update last week, but for some reason or other did not get around to actually doing so. And now the bad news are that I do not see much chance that I will be able to update for the next three weekends in a row! I am truly sorry for that and hope you will not abandon me or this story in the meantime!

As always, I want to thank you all for sticking with me, for reading, for putting on alert, adding to favorites and for reviewing this or any of my other stories. Your aupport does mean the world to me, I cannot say it often enough!

Anyway, on to the new chapter, and keep in mind that I do not own those characters... Oh, and I know that "The Magic Flute" does have a happy ending, but I thought that Pamina's aria does fit in well with the other, tragic songs.

Chapter 21 – Think of Me

The next few weeks were torture for Erik and Christine. They saw each other almost daily, since Raoul insisted that Christine was present at all their business meetings, and of course she also had to rehearse for her upcoming recital. As much as Erik enjoyed seeing her so regularly and hearing her sing again, her presence also was a constant reminder of the fact that she had left him for the Vicomte, had sold herself, body and soul, to this lecher with the normal, even handsome face.

His face! It all came down to his face. What if he, Erik, had looked like other men? What if he, too, had had attractive features? Would Christine then have been faithful? Would she have waited for him? Erik sighed. In that case she would now be his wife, not the Vicomte's. But would they have been happy together? Could he have been happy with a woman that paid so much attention to looks and other superficial qualities like money and a title? He knew he couldn't. But it did not help that he reminded himself over and over again that Christine was unworthy of his love and that being married to her would most likely have turned out to be a huge disappointment, that he should consider himself lucky to have found out about her true character and to be rid of her for good. His brain might have been convinced by such arguments, his heart still longed for her.

It was especially hard for him to remain cold and aloof when she sang. For some reason, Christine had selected only highly emotional songs and arias for her recital, songs that spoke of longing, of unrequited or betrayed love, of resignation. Not one of the pieces she had chosen was from a comedy. And strangely enough, despite the fact that Erik had ample proof of her superficial, volatile character, she imbued those songs with feelings that her heart could know nothing about and moved everybody who heard her to tears. Well, everybody but him. Erik tried his best not to show her how deeply those songs affected him. He never gave her even one word of praise. The only times he even bothered to acknowledge her presence during her rehearsals was when he pointed out one of her minuscule mistakes. He then always harshly corrected her, giving her the impression that he was annoyed with the noblewoman trying to play at being an accomplished singer.

Christine was every bit as miserable as Erik was. In a way she should have been glad about his very obvious contempt for her. His coldness made it easier for her to hide her own feelings and thus not to give Raoul reason to complain about her behavior towards Erik. Erik's icy formality when dealing with her that bordered on impolite, gave her the strength to look through him and treat him like a total stranger, when she would have wanted nothing more than to slap him hard and ask him how he could have forgotten her and given her up so easily. How he could have hurt her so badly that he had driven her into the arms of Raoul, who did not appreciate her at all, saw nothing in her but a trophy he had won in a competition with a rival, and a body he could fondle at will.

She was not quite sure what she had hoped to accomplish by choosing all those emotionally charged pieces for her recital. Had she wanted to make Erik understand how she felt about his betrayal? If so, her plan had backfired, for most of the time he ignored her and her singing. The only times he did seem to pay attention to her was when he found something about her singing that he could criticize. Then he always gave her the impression that he considered her a worthless, untalented person, who used her husband's position to buy herself the chance to perform in public. What a difference there was between his cold, hurtful words now and their music lessons back then, when she had still believed in his love for her, when there still had been a future to dream of!

She felt like she should hate Erik for what he had done to her, but she could not. For as much as it hurt her to see him with his wife, the way he treated the ailing woman proved to Christine beyond a doubt that Erik was a warm and caring man. Oh, he could be so loving and tender, just not with her!

But then, Christine had to admit to herself, that it was impossible not to like Amanda-Ann. She herself was growing fonder of the young child-woman by the day. As much as she envied her Erik's love and devotion, she could not get herself to hate her rival. And it was almost more to protect Amanda-Ann than to protect Erik that she made sure that Raoul would not have reason to complain about her own behavior. She could not even begin to imagine what it would do to Amanda-Ann if Raoul decided to expose Erik as the so-called "Phantom of the Opera", who supposedly had killed a stagehand in cold blood.

She therefore made sure never to show Erik how much his distance and cold demeanor hurt her. She treated him with the same formality and cold politeness he had for her – and allowed Raoul to take whatever liberties he wanted to take with her body. For whenever Raoul was sure only Erik was watching, his hands usually wandered to inappropriate places like her breasts or her buttocks, in an attempt to show his rival that Christine now was his in every sense of the word. But as much as she would have wanted to show Raoul his place for treating her in such a demeaning way, she could not risk making him angry, even less so in public. So she endured his inappropriate and unwanted attention.

The only person happy with this emotionally charged situation was Raoul. He felt a perverted satisfaction at the way his wife and her former teacher were treating each other. Their apparent cold formality could not fool him. He sensed the waves of hurt feelings and imagined betrayal between these two and it filled him with a sense of power. All their love was pointless, it had not stood a chance against his manipulations. He had outwitted the ugly freak and won the price. True, Christine did not love him. She just endured him and was a rather passive partner in their love-making, but she belonged to him now and not to that – _thing_. That freak who pretended to be a man. Who even managed to look passable with that fake face he was wearing nowadays. That freak who had dared stealing the heart of the woman he, Raoul Vicomte de Chagny, desired.

But he had won. He had driven the wedge between them that had lead to their separation. They had fallen into his trap and had allowed him to manipulate them as if they were marionettes. Even now they were dancing to his tune, he was holding the strings that controlled their movements. Christine would not dare giving that freak a hint that she was still pining after him, and that monster … Well, one could almost believe that he despised Christine from the way he treated her.

Raoul was very pleased with his achievements. It had really been worth the risk of taking Christine to London. Only now could he be certain that his wife would never try to get back into Givenould's good graces. For even if Christine tried to be more friendly to Erik now, Raoul was sure that Erik would want nothing to do with her anymore.

Xxxx

As much as Erik would have wanted to keep Christine and Amanda-Ann away from each other, he could not prevent the two women to meet over and over again. Somehow the two ladies always found ways to see each other. One day Amanda-Ann begged for her father's permission to attend one of Christine's rehearsals, which to Erik's dismay his father-in-law granted. Then Amanda-Ann invited Christine over for tea, which the latter gladly accepted.

At first Erik had tried to protest against the blossoming friendship between his wife and Christine, insinuating that Christine was likely of doubtful moral qualities, what with having been an upcoming star at the theater where her now-husband was the patron, hinting at the possibility that Christine had slept her way to stardom and somehow managed to make her lover marry her and turn the mistress into a respected wife.

Both, Amanda-Ann and her father laughed at that idea. "I do not know what you have against this charming lady, Erik," Mr. Stanton had chided him. "It is obvious that she is more than just talented. Her voice is a rare gift. You will see, her recital will be a huge success and all the other theaters will envy our luck for having been able to get her under contract. I think that the fact that she is married to a member of the French aristocracy has somewhat clouded your judgment."

"She is also a complete darling," Amanda-Ann chimed in. "She is warm, caring, very sensitive and extremely tactful. I have no idea why she married this Vicomte, though. I am certain that she does not love him." She smiled at Erik. "Trust me, I know. As a woman it is easier for me to understand another woman than it might be for you or papa. She does not love her husband and she is not happy with him, and it is utterly beyond me why she married him in the first place." She cocked her head, as if thinking, than added, "maybe she is in love with somebody else, an unrequited love. And since her own love is hopeless, she took the first-best man who proposed to her."

Erik forced a smile. "You are a hopeless romantic, my dear," he told Amanda-Ann. "Always seeing romance and love where there might be nothing but calculation."

Amanda-Ann shook her head. "No, Erik, don't laugh at me. I am sure I am right. True, Christine seems cold and distant most of the time, but I am sure that this is to protect herself, to make sure nobody sees the pain she is feeling. Just listen to her when she sings! How she imbues those sad and longing tunes with emotion and always makes me cry. And more often than not she has tears in her eyes, too, when she sings those songs. That is the true Christine de Chagny, not the cold, formal exterior she shows to us. That one is just a mask she wears to hide the deeper secrets of her heart."

Erik thought about those words for a while. Was it possible that Christine was not quite as superficial as she seemed to be? Was it possible that she did hide a broken heart as well? But if so, was it not her own fault if she had to suffer now? Who had told her to betray his deep love and sell herself to the Vicomte? It had been her own, free decision to marry that womanizer. Oh, Erik had eyes, he could see how that so-called aristocrat treated Christine, how his hands always found their way to Christine's buttocks and breasts when he thought that nobody was watching. He also could see that Christine, while not exactly encouraging such behavior also did nothing to show her husband that she did not like being treated that way. She must therefore be fine with such inappropriate attention. She obviously was just as shameless as he had thought her to be when he had first learned that she had married the Vicomte.

"If what Amanda-Ann thinks is true and Christine is now unhappy with her choice, then it's her own fault," Erik finally decided. "She preferred the handsome, rich, titled man over my heart full of love, now she has to live with the consequences." And once again he blessed his own fate that had made him realize Christine's unworthiness in time and had brought a true angel like Amanda-Ann into his life, a woman who loved him despite his looks, who could understand the problems he had been facing all his life, since she, too, was suffering from an affliction that made it hard for her to live a normal life.

Xxxx

Finally the day of Christine's recital arrived. Amanda-Ann was getting all excited. She had seen their current production of "L'Elisir d'Amore" three times already, and was looking forward to this new experience. Never before had she been to a recital before. She had learned the list of arias that Christine would be singing by heart, and had made sure to get all the information she could find on the plays they came from. She had asked Christine and Erik for synopses and for the situation in which the character would sing a particular piece. She knew that most of those stories were rather tragic and did not provide a happy ending for the heroine and the man she loved, and she thought that the choice of those songs more than anything else proved that her new friend Christine – the two ladies were on first names by now – was suffering from a broken heart. How else could it be explained that Christine liked such sad songs better than more humorous or happy ones? Surely there were more operas like "L'Elisir d'Amore" with a happy ending for the main couple. Why did Christine not add a few arias from such plays to her program?

In the evening, Amanda-Ann joined her husband and father in their private box. Mr. Stanton had wanted to invite Raoul to their box as well, but when he had made that suggestion, Erik and Amanda-Ann had looked at each other and had both declared unanimously that they did not want him anywhere near. Mr. Stanton had felt a bit uncomfortable by his family's open dislike of their new business partner, but had agreed to offer Raoul another box for his exclusive use.

Amanda-Ann and her father were occupying the front seats of their box, with Erik sitting behind his wife. Despite his new mask he was still a bit uncomfortable in public and therefore preferred to hide behind Amanda-Ann. A seat in the back would also make it easier for him to hide from his wife and father-in-law how very touched he would be by Christine's singing.

Christine began with "Addio del passato", Violetta's third act aria from "La Traviata" and earned standing ovations with her heart-breaking rendition of this melancholic piece. Pamina's "Ach ich fühl's, es ist entschwunden" from "The Magic Flute" followed. Amanda-Ann was moved to tears. She was not the only one. The whole audience seemed like under a spell, deeply touched by the feelings expressed by the young singer and at the same time mesmerized by her flawless technique and virtuosity.

When the official program was over, the audience kept clapping and cheering, asking for one more piece. Amanda-Ann, her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm turned to Erik and asked, "isn't she magnificent?"

Erik barely managed to nod. He was speechless. Christine had just surpassed herself. She had performed all those arias not only flawlessly, but with more feeling than he had ever considered possible. How could somebody as superficial as her express such deep emotions?

Fortunately, Amanda-Ann was too excited to notice his emotional state. "You will see, she will sing another piece," she told him. "She simply has to! We want more! Everybody in the theater wants more! She is beyond fantastic!"

At that moment, Christine seemed to whisper something to the conductor, and when the latter nodded, she announced that she would be singing one more piece, namely Elyssa's aria "Think of Me" from Chalumeau's "Hannibal".

Moments later the familiar introduction was heard and Christine's bell-like voice began to sing.

"Think of me, think of me fondly,  
When we've said good-bye..."

Amanda-Ann once again had to fight back tears. She had no idea what "Hannibal" was about, since this particular aria had not been on the program and she therefore had not researched the play, but she caught enough of the lyrics to know that this was about a woman knowing that her love had no future, who begged her beloved not to forget her, once they would be separated forever, and that she was promising in return that she would _always_ think of him.

Always. The last line "There will never be a day that I won't think of you" sounded like a promise to Amanda-Ann and the way Christine seemed to stress this particular line was like a revelation to her. In a way it was the confirmation of her suspicions, that Christine was indeed suffering from a broken heart. That her friend had somehow lost the man she loved, but could not and would not forget him. Ever.

"I told you," she whispered to Erik. "She is in love with somebody she cannot have. She would never sing this song like that, with so much emotion, she would not put so much emphasis on that last line, if there were no parallel to her own life. She loves somebody, who for some reason or other is lost to her. That's probably why she married the Vicomte. Because it does not matter whom she marries since she cannot have the one she truly loves."

Erik fought down his own emotions and managed to say rather coldly. "Nobody forced her to marry the Vicomte. If it is true she loves somebody else, she could have remained single and pursued her career as a singer if she thought he was lost to her."

Amanda-Ann smiled at him. She had caught something in her husband's voice that belied his harsh words. "Oh Erik," she mumbled. "You cannot fool me. I know now why you are always so hard on my friend. You know it too, that she is unhappy. But you blame her for having tried to find security in a loveless marriage. You would have preferred her to remain alone for the rest of her life, living just for her art. You are such a hopeless romantic yourself!"


	22. Why Can't the Past Just Die?

I am back! I hope you all still remember me? Yes? Well, I m sorry for the long delay, but will be able to update fairly regularly in the near future. Thank you all for reading (not just this story, but also some of my old ones), for adding to favorites, for putting on alert, and most of all, for reviewing! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Without you, I would have given up long ago.

Anyway, on with our story. No revelation yet, but... well, some development, I think. And keep in mind that I do not own these characters...

Chapter 22 – Why Can't the Past Just Die?

The day after Christine's recital, the de Chagny couple came to "The Music House" again to say their good-byes before returning home to France. Business agreements had been signed long ago, during the period of Christine's rehearsals, and it had been agreed that the Opéra Populaire would start shipping the sets for "Hannibal" to London the following week. While those would be adapted to the smaller stage of the Stantons' theater, the musicians and singers would already learn their parts and rehearse. Once sets and costumes were ready, the new production could start. Then the sets for "L'Elisir d'Amore" would be moved to Paris.

Erik had not been too pleased to work with de Chagny, but he knew that this was a very cost-effective way to put up more productions per year. A short run of "Hannibal" would give their theater diversity, while allowing him more time to work on their next original production, and by exchanging sets and costumes with Paris his dear, dear wife could enjoy a few more operas before she would wilt away and die.

Mr. Stanton was not at the theater, when Raoul and Christine arrived to say their final good-byes, so Erik had to meet them on his own. He was not looking forward to this last confrontation, though. He was in an emotional turmoil. In a way he was glad that Christine would be leaving, but he also dreaded her departure. Seeing her constantly and hearing her sing had reopened the barely healed wounds of his heart. Despite her betrayal he had not stopped loving her. No matter how often he told himself that she was a superficial, heartless, unfaithful woman, unworthy of his love, his heart could not believe it. Not when she sang the way she had at the concert, her voice so full of emotion, of love, longing and loss, and unshed tears making her eyes sparkle.

The way she had looked during the applause following her rendition of Elyssa's aria had pulled at his heartstrings. He had almost believed that she meant every word she had sung, that she still remembered him fondly, that she wished things were different and she could be with him.

Too late! Erik shook his head. No, this could never be. It was too late now, not just because of their respective spouses, but also because Christine had not been able to remain faithful. Even if for some reason she could ever free herself from the Vicomte, he would never be able to trust her again. Not even when...

Erik sighed. He knew that Amanda-Ann's days were counted. Despite his and Mr. Stanton's loving care, their dear girl would not live much longer. A year, maybe two, the doctor had told them. Her illness was running its course. He would soon be free again, free to marry another woman. But deep in his heart he knew that would never happen. Apart from the fact that no other woman would want him, he knew that no one would ever be able to chase the image of Christine from his heart, the way he had once thought her to be, innocent, loving, faithful.

It was really better that she left. As painful as it would be to see her go, it was also a relief. She would be gone, and thus not able to disturb his peace again. The farther away she was, the better his chances would be of getting over the pain she had caused him and of, maybe, one day forgetting her.

Erik's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the de Chagnys.

"Dear Monsieur Givenould," Raoul greeted Erik enthusiastically, "what a huge success yesterday's recital was! Everybody is enthusiastic about my Christine's voice and interpretation!" He put his arm around his wife's waist, pulling her close, his hand once again very openly caressing her buttocks.

"It was better than I feared," Erik commented dryly. "But then, the event was appealing to the ones that like the extraordinary. We here in London do not normally have a Vicomtesse on our stages. We use trained singers, professionals."

Christine felt like dying. At that moment she did not know which of the two men present she hated more, Raoul, whose hand was still cupping her buttocks in front of Erik, or Erik, who insulted her like that.

Raoul laughed. "You just want to make sure my wife accepts a smaller fee for her performance next time," he accused Erik. "You know, we will be back in about a year's time for another concert. I cannot allow Christine to perform in public back home, but here... well, let's say, it could be called an eccentricity. Since we will have to come back anyway to check your productions to see if we can use your new ones for Paris, I might as well allow her another concert. You would love that, Lotte, wouldn't you?" he asked.

Christine nodded. "Yes," she mumbled obediently.

"Good! Then we should sign the contract that I prepared last night, before we leave." He looked around for his briefcase and realized annoyed that he had left it in the carriage. "I will be back right away," he announced, his eyes throwing daggers at Christine as if it were her fault that he had forgotten the bag. "Don't you dare disobeying my orders," he hissed at her menacingly.

The door had barely closed behind Raoul, when Erik started to laugh. "I hope you are happy in your marriage," he told Christine sarcastically. "I see that you got everything you ever wished for, a handsome husband, loving and gentle, money, a title, a position..."

"How dare you!" Christine's patience was at an end. "How dare you mock me like that, you unfaithful bastard!" she screamed at Erik.

"Unfaithful? Me?" Erik's voice was dripping with barely concealed anger. "You of all People have the guts to accuse me of being unfaithful, because I allowed a kind, innocent, angelic girl to try and heal my broken heart?"

"Your broken heart, right," Christine countered, deeply hurt. "I had never thought I would hear you lie like that, but then, why should I be surprised? That's the story you told your wife, is it not? That the woman you wanted to marry had left you. Maybe you have told her this story so often that by now you believe it yourself, but it could not be further from the truth."

Erik could not look at her. Her eyes were swimming in tears and she looked more beautiful than ever. "There is no point in continuing this conversation, Vicomtesse," he said coldly, pretending to check some paperwork on his desk, in order to compose himself again, "since you obviously have a distorted idea of the truth."

Christine's laughter was boarding on hysteric when she replied, "I know what I am talking about, but have no fear, _Monsieur Givenould_ , I will not bother you with my feelings on that matter ever again. I finally know your true personality now." She spit out his name as if it were an insult. How dared he! He who had caused her misery by getting engaged with another woman, who had practically delivered her into the hands of the lecherous Vicomte by deserting her for Amanda-Ann! It was his fault that she now was Raoul's property.

When Raoul came back a few minutes later, he found his wife and the former Phantom staring at each other with hate, both rather agitated, trying without much success to appear calm.

Raoul smiled. He liked what he saw. Hopefully his wife would now finally stop to pine for that ugly freak and appreciate himself more.

"I am sorry for making you wait, my dear," he said, kissing Christine on the forehead. Then he pulled the contract he had prepared out of his briefcase and began to discuss details with Erik.

About half an hour later Raoul and Christine left, and Erik was alone with his thoughts.

Xxx

"I would like to say good-bye to Madame Givenould as well," Christine pleaded with Raoul, once they had left the theater. "She is such a dear person."

In the relative privacy of the carriage, Raoul's fingers slipped down Christine's cleavage and teased one of her nipples. "What for?" he asked, "would you like to compare notes with her on the sexual prowess of that freak?"

Christine closed her eyes. "You know that there never was anything of that sort between me and Monsieur Givenould," she reminded Raoul. "I was a virgin when ..." She did not finish. She did not want to think of the things Raoul liked doing to her naked body.

Raoul laughed. "Just because you did not allow him between your legs does not mean the two of you did not have fun together," he sneered. "There are other ways. I bet you did all sorts of things together.."

Christine did not reply. It was useless. Raoul would not believe her anyway.

"Well, I will be generous and allow you to go see this wife of his," Raoul told her, "and the two of you can gush over his manly body as much as you want, but only if you will be my good little wife tonight on the train..."

Christine nodded. He would try to use her body anyway, and as her husband he had the right to do so. What was the use of fighting him?

Xxx

Amanda-Ann was pleased to see Christine one last time before the latter's departure. She had insisted on sitting in the parlor, waiting for her new friend, even though she felt rather exhausted after last night's long concert.

"I am so glad, you could come and see me before you leave," she told Christine. "It is such a pity that we are living so far apart. You are my first true friend. I would so love to see you more often, to discuss operas with you and hear you sing!"

"I will come back next year," Christine promised. "I just signed a contract for another concert with your husband, when Raoul and I went to take our leave from him."

Amanda-Ann smiled. "How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "That way we will be able to see each other again in the not too distant future! And maybe, since I am so much stronger now, Erik and I can visit you as well! Maybe we could see an opera in Paris together, since your husband is the patron of the Opéra Populaire."

Christine nodded. "That would be lovely," she agreed, although she thought that Amanda-Ann looked weaker and paler than she had ever seen her, and she had her doubts the young woman would even be alive the next time she and Raoul would come to London.

"I am so looking forward to "Hannibal"," Amanda-Ann continued. "I just learned that we will take over your production soon. The aria you sang yesterday was the highlight of the evening. Such a sad piece, but so moving!"

She shyly glanced at Christine. "Will you not be upset with me if I ask you something very personal?" she whispered.

"What is it you want to know?" Christine asked, slightly on alert.

"That song, Elyssa's aria," Amanda-Ann began, "a woman knowing that her love has no future, that … I mean it sounded so real, when you sang it. You... you have been in such a situation yourself,or a similar one, have you not? There was someone you loved very much, but … for some reason it was not possible, you had to part ways. You do not love your husband, you married him because he can provide for you, but your heart... am I right?"

Christine was fighting back tears. How had Amanda-Ann guessed that? Had she really let her own feelings carry her away that much last night? Had everybody in the audience guessed as much as Amanda-Ann? Who else had discovered her secret – Raoul, Erik?

"You do not have to tell me," Amanda-Ann continued. "I understand that this is a deeply personnel question and none of my concern. It's just, some people, even my husband, accuse you of being cold, but I know that you are not. You are warm and friendly. I think you ave built this facade around you to protect yourself, your true self, to hide the pain that you feel when thinking of your lost love."

Christine looked up. "You are very perceptive," she mumbled.

Suddenly she felt Amanda-Ann's thin arms around her. "I am so sorry," Erik's wife whispered. "I wish I could help you. I wish you could be as happy as I am, with the man you love. I do not know what happened and you do not have to tell me, and I certainly do not know how I could have lived on if my Erik had not returned my feelings or if for some reason or other we could not have married. I can therefore totally imagine how you feel." And Amanda-Ann began to cry over her friend's sad situation.

Christine was alarmed. It had not been her intention to agitate the sickly woman in front of her. Despite everything, she did like Amanda-Ann. In a way that poor woman was just as much a victim as herself, and Christine wondered which of them Erik had betrayed more: her, for getting engaged to Amanda-Ann, or his wife, for lying to her about his love.

But Christine also knew that she was the stronger one of them. That she was able to deal with her fate, no matter how hard it was. Amanda-Ann, on the other hand, would break if she ever found out that Erik only loved her like a sister. Or worse, if she found out about his past. And it was certainly not healthy for Amanda-Ann to get so agitated.

Christine therefore quickly extricated herself from Amanda-Ann's embrace. "How silly of me," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "To talk of such sad things on our last day together. We should be enjoying this time together as real friends do. There is so much to life that we can enjoy, other than love. Music, for one thing,the beauty of nature, friendship..."

Amanda-Ann was smiling now. "You are right,"she exclaimed. "There is a lot to love about life. Like for instance, we will be putting on "Hannibal" in my theater soon. Will you tell me a little bit about the story, and maybe hum one or two memorable melodies to me?"

And for the remainder of Christine's visit the two ladies only talked about opera.

Xxxx

The next few weeks were full of work for Erik. He had to oversee rehearsals for Hannibal and once the sets and costumes arrived he had to make sure they were all properly adapted so that the backdrops and scenery would fit on the stage and the lovely, colorful costumes would fit the respective singers. At the same time he was working on the designs for the next production he had in mind. Since "Hannibal" was a rather tragic play, he had decided to put on something more humorous next. He had chosen Rossini's "Barbiere di Siviglia" and hoped his wife would like it. Happy, fun pieces were what he wanted her to see, that could make her smile and make whatever days were left to her full of fun and joy.

She seemed so subdued to him lately, once again much weaker than she had been right after their wedding and he was worried. When he asked Amanda-Ann, she evaded his questions, until one day she confessed to him that she could not stop thinking about her poor friend Christine, the only friend she had ever had and who was now so far away.

"And I know she would need a friend," Amanda-Ann told him. "She is not happy, I know. Fate has not been kind to her, and I have a feeling as if she had nobody she can confide in. Certainly not that husband of hers. In fact, I suspect he is part of her problems. He is always hovering near her and pretending to swoon over her, but he looks at her as if he were stripping her naked with his eyes." She shook her head. "I don't know what it is. I think he does not respect her. Maybe because she has been a singer. I read a novel once where it was mentioned that theater people are considered to have low moral standards. Maybe that's why he treats her that way. But if that is his opinion, why did he marry her then? If he thinks her so far beneath him?"

Erik sighed. He hated to be reminded of Christine and her strange marriage. "You should not think too much about this," he told his wife. "You do not know what is really going on between these two. She does not seem to have a problem with the way he treats her, and while I have to admit that he is not one of my favorite people, and if I were a girl I would not want him anywhere near me, and most certainly would not have married him, she obviously must have had her reasons for doing so. If she is not happy with her decision, we cannot help her. It is her own doing, my love. And she has to live with the consequences of her actions."

Amanda-Ann nodded. "I know," she agreed. "But still, I wish I could help her somehow. I wish I could do something that makes her happy, makes her smile."

"You are such a sweet girl, my love," Erik mumbled, moved by her words. "You find it in you to pity a woman who gave up everything just to end up in the bed of a handsome, rich, titled man, even if he does not treat her with respect."

Amanda-Ann looked startled. Something in Erik's voice had caught her attention. "You know more about her?" she asked hesitantly.

Erik realized that he had not been careful enough. He quickly shook his head and forced a smile on his face. "I just guessed," he explained. "You are right, the two de Chagnys are an odd couple and it is hard to imagine that they are happily married, but then, I do not think anybody forced them into that marriage, actually, I am fairly certain that the Vicomte's family is not happy at all with his choice. Maybe that is why he treats her that way, because his family wants him to do so. Who knows? Maybe this is just an act they put on in public to satisfy the French nobility, or whatever. I am just saying, we do not know what is really going on and therefore it is a moot point to worry about them!"

Amanda-Ann accepted that explanation. But even though what Erik had said sounded plausible to her, she could not stop feeling sorry for her friend, for deep down she knew that she was right, that Christine de Chagny was not happy.


	23. Twisted Every Way

Hi everybody!

Yes, I know, the last chapter was kind of a teaser of how our two idiots might figure out what had happened. I know you were frustrated that they did not figure it out all. Well... they are beginning to see things a bit differently, though still not quite the way they had happened, and at least Erik feels torn about the new realizations...

As always, I want to thank you all for reading, for putting on alert, adding to favorites, and most of all, for the lovely reviews youare leaving in my inbox! And to reviewer "Guest" I say, I think I know who you are, and I hope you will see the wrongness of your ways in the end!

Now on to the next chapter which brings some recently negleczed characters back into the fold!

Chapter 23 – Twisted Every Way

A few more weeks passed before Erik finally found time to visit his old friend Nadir. He had been so busy, first with the negotiations with Raoul and the organization of Christine's recital, then with rehearsals for "Hannibal", that he had not found time to see Nadir. If he was honest, he also had kind of avoided the Persian during the de Chagny couple's stay in London, since he did not want his friend to guess the emotional turmoil he was going through. It was kind of easy not to let his wife and father-in-law realize how much the presence of that shameless woman affected him, since they did not know what she had once meant to him. He could explain away his bad temper as work-related stress caused by the tiresome negotiations, for instance, and since Amanda-Ann also had developed a dislike for Raoul, she would not doubt this excuse. Nadir, on he other hand, was a different cup of tea. He would not be fooled that easily.

But now, that a few weeks had passed, Erik felt the need to discuss Christine's visit with somebody, to share his innermost feelings upon seeing her again with a friend, and Nadir really was the only person he could think of to confide in.

Nadir looked up from the newspaper, he was reading, when Erik arrived. "Oh, look who's there," the Persian commented dryly. "Have you finally found your way here again? Where have you been hiding?"

When he noticed Erik's tense features, he turned more serious, though. "So it was not wedded bliss what kept you away," he mumbled sadly, "but rather the Vicomtesse de Chagny."

Erik nodded. "Her," he admitted. "But I cannot complain about my marriage," he continued. "Amanda-Ann is an angel, and I do not know how I would have been able to get through the weeks that whore was in London without my dear wife's constant love and support."

Nadir gave him a strange look. "Whore?" he asked. "Aren't you a bit harsh on the Vicomtesse? We do not really know why she married that pig, or do we?"

"You should have seen her!" Erik exclaimed, his voice sounding enraged and hurt at the same time. "He touches her inappropriately in public and she does not complain! She is obviously happy with him squeezing her buttocks or breasts with everybody there to see it!"

"And that means she likes it?" Nadir asked pointedly. "Maybe she just does not want to draw attention to the way he treats her, maybe she has reasons not to make him angry, especially in the case that he knows who you are."

Erik glared at the Persian. "And why would she care?" he sneered. "Remember, it was her who betrayed me, who stopped writing me when that fop made his intentions clear and who got engaged to him when I was still hoping for a letter from her!"

Nadir shook his head. "I cannot believe this," he said. "Something about this scenario does not ring true for me." He went to where Erik stood and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I was at the recital," he confessed. "I saw her, and I listened to her singing. I may not be much of an expert when it comes to music, but, Erik, I do understand a little bit about the workings of the human heart. When I first saw the announcement of the concert, I was surprised at the selection of songs she had chosen, all of them highly emotionally charged, all of them sad. The characters she portrayed all had somehow had to give up on their love, most songs spoke of resignation and loss. My first thought was that that was not the selection a happily married woman would choose. I admit that at first I suspected that maybe you were right, that she had left you and wanted to somehow mock you or irritate you by playing the part of the victim. But I needed to know for sure what her intentions had been in choosing those particular songs. That's why I went to the recital."

Nadir paused for effect, before adding softly, "She made me cry, Erik. She sang those songs because that's the way she feels. If she were the heartless bitch you make her out to be, she could never – _never_ – imbue those arias with that kind of emotion. A fickle, superficial woman who enjoys being treated by her husband like a cheap whore could never convey such deep feelings. Such a person might sing with perfect technique, produce the purest sounds, but her singing would lack a soul. The woman I saw on stage was crying over her lost love, was longing for a past, where she had hoped for a future with her beloved. A woman who still thinks of the man she lost, who still loves him despite everything and who is not happy in her current situation."

"If she is not happy, it's her own fault," Erik said, his voice bitter. "Nobody told her to betray me, to become the Vicomte's public whore with the title of wife."

"Are you so sure?" Nadir asked. "Do you know why she married the Vicomte? Do you know if she had a choice? He might have tricked her, blackmailed her, forced her somehow to marry him." He thought about it for a moment, then added, "maybe he had found out that you are here. Maybe he threatened that he would inform the British police that you are a wanted man in France if she did not, you know... And by marrying her, he would not only have gotten her into his bed, he would also have made sure that she could not try to run away that easily and rejoin you, warn you. Is this scenario so inconceivable?"

Erik slumped into a chair. He had not thought about this. "Oh my God," he groaned. "What if you are right? What if she sacrificed herself in order to keep me safe? What if she is enduring all that shame so that I may be able to lead a normal life? What if she is innocent?"

"Her singing convinced me that she is innocent," Nadir commented, "even though it looks as if she had abandoned you out of her own free will."

"But if so, if she only agreed to this marriage for my sake, if she is submitting herself to his … if she is enduring him, then what have I done! I betrayed her myself by marrying Amanda-Ann!"

He choked as he remembered his last conversation with Christine. "She called me an unfaithful bastard," he confessed.

Nadir smiled. "See?" he told Erik. "I am right. She was somehow forced to marry that Vicomte, but she had hoped that you would understand her sacrifice and still honor the love the two of you feel for each other. When you married another, it hurt her. And it was her turn to feel betrayed."

"Amanda-Ann," Erik gasped. "I don't know if I would ever have married her if I had not thought that Christine had abandoned me. But she... She loves me, she believes in my love, and I am certain her father was right, when he told me she would die prematurely if I did not marry her..."

Nadir nodded. "I know," he agreed. "And I am not saying you should not have married her. On the contrary, I am glad you did. The two of you are good for each other. Her love for you has filled her with an energy she might not have had otherwise, and having her to care for and to be loved by, has been very beneficial to your emotional well-being, too. And it is not as if there were a chance for you and Christine to be together eventually. After all, she is married, and the Vicomte will not allow her a divorce, since this would cause a scandal. Should you have remained alone, pining for your lost love? Therefore I am glad that you have Amanda-Ann to fill the void in your heart. But I wish you and Christine had had a chance to discuss these problems. It might have helped you both to understand the decisions the other one has made or has had to make. I hear the de Chagnys might come back next year again, maybe then you will be able to clear things up with her."

Erik nodded. "You know what," he confessed, "Amanda-Ann has been telling me something similar for quite a while, namely that Christine, who she considers her friend, is unhappy, that she must be in love with somebody other than her husband, but that, for some reason or other, her love is hopeless."

Nadir smiled. "You have a very perceptive wife, Erik," he told his friend. "You should trust her feelings."

When he left his friend, Erik had a lot to think about. Was it possible that Christine had somehow been forced to betray him? That her heart still belonged to him? If so, he had hurt her terribly, not just by marrying Amanda-Ann, but also by the insulting way he had treated her. But would it really change a thing if what Nadir suspected were true? Did it matter, whether or not Christine still loved him, since she was lost to him anyway? Would that knowledge allow him to love her as well, even though he was married to Amanda-Ann?

Amanda-Ann! Erik sighed. He knew he did not love her the way he had loved Christine, but she was very dear to him. And if Nadir was right, and Christine was nowhere near as guilty as she seemed and thus not undeserving of his love, where would that leave him? Could he love two women at the same time or would it be a crime against his dear little Amanda-Ann to keep Christine's altar at the bottom of his heart as well? Amanda-Ann, who was not to blame for any of this, who was an innocent bystander, and who deserved to be loved by him with all his heart.

Xxxx

A few weeks had passed since the de Chagnys had returned to Paris when Christine finally dared asking Raoul if he would allow her to visit the Girys. She knew that he did not like her continued friendship with these two, since he considered them beneath his social circle. He therefore only very rarely allowed her to meet with her surrogate mother and sister.

Meg's plaster had come off recently, and Christine thought that was as good an excuse as any for wanting to see her foster family. She wanted to see for herself that Meg was going to be fine and would be able to dance again soon.

Raoul listened to his wife's humble request to be allowed to see her friends, then licked his lips in anticipation. "Well, I will be generous," he said, "but when you come home, we go straight to our bedroom ..."

Christine nodded. She knew by now that she had to pay with her body for every favor she asked of her husband. She bit her lips. That was certainly something she could not tell Mme. Giry. The ballet-mistress would be appalled if she knew what kind of abuse Christine had to go through on a regular basis. But there were other things she needed to discuss with her foster mother and with Meg. She needed to talk to somebody about the things that had happened in London that weighed her down.

When she arrived at the Opéra Populaire Christine pushed aside all thought of what she would have to endure upon her return home, and focused solely on the meeting with the Girys.

Meg was able to walk again, but the leg was still a bit stiff from having been in a plaster for so long, and Meg was out of practice from having been forced to sit still for weeks. The doctor had given her a list of easy exercises that she should try in order to get back in shape.

Meg explained her progress to Christine and showed her which exercises she could already do without effort. "In two to three months I should be able to begin dancing again," Meg announced cheerfully. "Of course, at first, I will only be able to dance in the back row, and maybe only in some dances," she continued, "some movements might still be too strenuous for my ankle. But I will do my best to get back to my previous level of excellence as fast as possible."

After a while the conversation shifted to the de Chagnys' recent trip to London. Christine talked a bit about the city, which Meg and Mme. Giry found very interesting. They had never been abroad. But once Christine had described all the sights she had seen, Mme. Giry finally approached the sensitive topic of Erik.

"Sets and costumes for Donizetti's "Elisir d'Amore" arrived here a few days ago," she said, watching Christine closely. "I heard they come from a theater in London called "The Music House". Isn't that the theater...?"

Christine nodded, then looked to the floor. "Yes," she whispered. "Erik leads that theater. I met him."

Mme. Giry felt her foster daughter's unease and rushed to her side, putting an arm around Christine's shoulders. "Did you talk to him?" she asked.

Christine sighed. "He was terrible!" she cried. "He treated me like an eccentric noble woman who has no business being on stage and is just using her husband's influence to get a chance to perform in a theater!"

Mme. Giry's jaw dropped. "You sang?" she asked. "There? In his theater?"

Christine nodded. "Yes," she said. "Raoul wanted to make it up to me somehow that I had to give up my profession, so he arranged for a recital in London. At Erik's theater." She still tried her best to pretend her marriage was a happy one.

"That must have been hard for you," Mme. Giry tried to comfort Christine. "But did you find out if what Raoul told you is true? Has Erik truly married the theater owner's daughter?" Even though Christine had shown her the incriminating leaflet, she still could not believe that Erik would give up on Christine and marry an heiress.

"Yes," Christine's whispered. "He is married to this Amanda-Ann, the only daughter of the gentleman who owns the theater."

"Did you meet her?" Meg chimed in, "what is she like?"

Christine sobbed. "She is adorable!" she confessed. "And I am sure she had no idea Erik was spoken for. I imagined her to be a seductive temptress, who bought the man she wanted with her money and a theater, but..."

Tears were running down her cheeks as she continued, "Amanda-Ann is about my age and the most innocent young lady you can imagine. She is also very ill, and if you ask me, she won't live much longer. Erik does care for her deeply, and she worships the ground he walks on. But..." She hesitated. Should she tell the Girys that she thought Erik did not love his wife the same way he had loved herself? Had she even been right about her observations, or had it all been wishful thinking on her part?

"Tell us," Mme. Giry encouraged her. "Tell us everything you want to talk about. We are here for you, we will try to comfort you and offer you understanding."

Christine nodded. "It is just... I do think Erik loves her in his own way, just not … I mean, when he looks at her, it is different from the way he used to look at me... "

Mme. Giry closed her eyes as a sudden thought crossed her mind. "Could it be," she began uneasily, "I mean, you said Erik's wife is very sick and might die soon, is it possible that he married her … out of pity for her? Because he realized she loved him? Or out of sympathy for her condition? Realizing that she, too, may have suffered form her handicap, just in different ways? Is it possible that he is trying to make this woman's last few months or years happy ones? Maybe he was hoping you would understand his motives and wait for him, knowing that his marriage would be a short-lived one?"

"I don't know!" Christine groaned. "I have been asking myself the same recently. But if you were right, if he had just married her for those reasons, why would he not have told us what was going on? Why would he not have asked me to wait for him? He just simply stopped writing!"

Mme. Giry nodded. "I know," she admitted. "I will never understand why he did not answer our letters anymore. The only explanation I have is that a letter might have gotten lost..."

"But we were without news from him for months!" Christine reminded her.

Mme. Giry sighed. "But what if for some reason he wanted to be married by the time he would tell us? Maybe he feared that you would beg him not to go through with his planned wedding and he thought he could not resist your pleas, but was worried what it might do to this Amanda-Ann if he did not marry her? Maybe he feared the girl would die of a broken heart in that case and therefore thought it better to arrange the wedding first and tell you afterwards, explaining his motives to you and asking you for your understanding and to wait for him till he would be free again. Might this be what actually has happened?"

Christine thought about it for a while. "Maybe that is how it happened," she admitted. "But there is something else. He did tell Amanda-Ann that there had been another girl he had wanted to marry, but he told her that this girl had married somebody else! And that simply was a lie. I mean, he got engaged first. I only married Raoul after I had seen proof of Erik's infidelity."

"But you married Raoul immediately after he showed you that announcement," Mme. Giry reminded Christine. "Erik may not have known that you knew about his engagement. But he somehow heard about your wedding, which may have taken place shortly before his. So... he may not have been lying to his wife at all. He would not have known that you married the Vicomte out of spite because you felt betrayed by him. He may have thought that you married the Vicomte, because you wanted to."

Christine broke down crying. That thought had not occurred to her yet.


	24. Sculpted Angels

Hi everybody,

I am sorry for no update last week. I had thought I would be able to do one, but wasn't. :-(

I am once again thanking all my readers for reading, for adding to favorites and putting on alert, but mostly for those little reviews you leave me! (hug)

Anyway, here is finally the next chapter. I would advise to keep your tissues ready, just in case. And remember that I do not own those characters.

Chapter 24 – Sculpted Angels

Almost a year had gone by and the next visit of the de Chagnys was approaching. Amanda-Ann was looking forward to seeing her friend Christine again and was talking about nothing else but Christine and the concert the latter would give. Even though she had seen several operas by now – thanks to the exchange program with the Opéra Populaire "The Music House" was able to offer a greater variety of plays than most other theaters – she had enjoyed Christine's recital most. Christine's singing had touched her in a deeply emotional way like no other performer had done before or after.

Especially the last number, Elyssa's aria from "Hannibal", had moved her to tears. Amanda-Ann had seen "Hannibal" in the meantime, and understood the character's problem, but even though their own lead soprano had sung that particular aria with lots of emotions, Amanda-Ann felt as if Christine's rendition had had more depth, had been more heartfelt.

Amanda-Ann had her own theory of why Christine's singing sounded so much more inspired than that of other singers, and in a way Christine had confirmed at their last meeting that she was not happy in her marriage and had more or less revealed that she loved another man. That thought troubled Amanda-Ann. If Christine's deeply emotional singing was due to personal tragedy and a broken heart, was it then right to enjoy it so?

"I wish she were happy as well!" Amanda-Ann thought. "Maybe then she would not be able to imbue her songs with so much heartfelt emotion, but she would still be stupendous! Her voice is so beautiful, her technique so flawless, and she could sing happy songs then!"

When she brought up this topic with her husband, Erik frowned. Ever since he had discussed Christine with Nadir, he could not stop thinking that maybe he had judged her unfairly, that maybe she had been tricked or even forced to marry the Vicomte, that there was a chance that her heart still belonged to him. But as much as this thought warmed his heart and as much as he hoped that Nadir had been right in his assessment of Christine's situation, he also knew that for her sake he should hope that that was not the case. For if Nadir was right, if Christine still loved him, Erik, and had married the Vicomte in order to keep him safe, was enduring all those indignities and humiliations for his sake, had basically sold herself to the Vicomte for his sake, then he was in her debt forever.

"Are you so sure, your friend is suffering from a broken heart?" he therefore asked Amanda-Ann hesitantly. "Did she.. I mean have the two of you discussed this or is this just speculation?"

Amanda-Ann looked away uneasily. Her conversation with Christine had been a deeply personal one and it somehow did not feel right to relay her friend's secret to a third person, but Erik was her husband with whom she shared everything, and then, if she told him what had happened that last day, he hopefully would understand Mme. de Chagny better and not treat her like an eccentric noblewoman any more. Was it really a betrayal of her friend if she made sure her husband would not judge her unfairly any longer?

"When she came to say her good-byes before she left London,"Amanda-Ann therefore began uneasily, "we talked about her recital. I mentioned how deeply moved I had been by her rendition of Elyssa's aria, and I hinted that I thought... I mean, I knew I should not have touched such a sensitive topic, but I implied that I thought her own fate was similar to Elyssa's, that she had married the Vicomte only for security after she had lost the man she truly loved. She suddenly had tears in her eyes and said that I was very perceptive. She did not give me any details, nor did I ask, but I do know now that I was right. She is suffering from a broken heart. I do not know who he was and what happened, if he is dead, has abandoned her or there were other reasons that kept them apart, but I do know that she still loves that man and I wish she could be with him. But it seems that there really is no hope for that, or she would not have married that terrible Vicomte."

Erik closed his eyes. He was overwhelmed by emotions. Christine still loved him! She had not married the Vicomte because she wanted to and enjoyed his lewd behavior, but had sacrificed herself. And he had treated her so poorly! Had probably increased her pain and made her even more unhappy than she already was!

"What is it, Erik?" Amanda-Ann asked, interrupting his thoughts. "You are so quiet and you look so... I would almost say pained."

"I... I just thought... I mean I realized that my behavior towards Mme. de Chagny might have been totally inappropriate," he mumbled. "If she is carrying such a burden, if she is truly nothing like her vulgar husband and has only married him out of necessity..."

Amanda-Ann smiled. "I assure you that is the case," she told him. "Now that you know this, will you promise me to treat her in a more polite, civilized way when she and that husband of hers will return to London in a few weeks?"

Erik nodded. He quickly tried to compose himself, so that Amanda-Ann would nor realize just how much the things she had just told him affected him. "I do promise," he told her and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. It was not really a kiss of love, but one of gratitude. His dear wife had just given him back his faith in Christine.

"Now that I know the truth, I am glad that at least you treated her in a friendly, respectful way," he said, and he meant every bit of it. "But then, I have always known that you have the kindest, most loving heart in this world."

Amanda-Ann blushed under his compliment, and as she looked up to him, Erik could not help but kiss those pale-red lips of hers with more passion than usual, for what would he really do without her? She just had put some healing balm on his heart again.

Xxxx

After that day, Amanda-Ann's health began to decline. Somehow having rehabilitated her friend in her husband's eyes had weakened her. It was as if she had completed a task, as if whatever purpose her existence had served, had been fulfilled. Mr. Stanton and Erik both were very worried and consulted the doctor that had been monitoring Amanda-Ann's health ever since she had been born.

The doctor's face looked very serious when he talked to the two men after having examined the young woman. "I am sorry," he began, "I wish I had better news, but ..."

"The end?" Mr. Stanton asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Erik groaned, unable to speak. The end! Amanda-Ann was about to die. The woman whose love had helped him over the loss of Christine, who had healed his broken heart and given him a new purpose in life, his Amanda-Ann was going to leave him! Soon he would be alone again.

The doctor nodded. "Yes," he confirmed. "I am surprised she lasted as long as she did. There was a time about a year and a half ago, where I already thought … but then, she seemed to summon her last strength, as if her will to live had increased a thousand-fold..." He gave Erik a meaningful look. "It was love what invigorated her one last time, which renewed her energy for a few more months. Without you, Monsieur, and your devoted love, she would have passed away months ago."

"And now," Erik stammered, "I will double my efforts to show her my love, I will shower her with affection..."

The doctor sadly shook his head. "You may do so, Monsieur Givenould," he said, "since it will make her passing easier for her, will make her last few days or weeks happy ones, but save her? No. It won't do that. There is nothing that can be done for her anymore. The sickness has reached its last stage. I am sorry."

Mr. Stanton's face was as white as the wall, when he finally asked, "does she know?"

The doctor once again shook his head. "No," he said, "and she does not need to know. Just shower her with your love and devotion, show her how much she means to the two of you. That's all you can do for her. Keep her happy, if she utters a reasonable wish, try to fulfill it and hide your pain from her."

The two men nodded, but once the doctor had left, they both broke down crying. After a while, Erik remembered that Amanda-Ann was alone and probably nervously waiting for news about what the doctor had told them. He quickly dried his tears and went to his wife's side.

Amanda-Ann was so very pale, she was lying on her sofa, and looking at him uneasily. "Erik, finally!" she exclaimed. "What took so long? What did the doctor tell you and papa?"

Erik forced a smile on his face, although he felt his heart break at the thought that this poor young woman would be dead soon. "He said it is just a passing weakness," he lied, "probably caused by your anticipation of your friend's imminent visit. His recommendation is that you should try to rest as much as possible."

"So I do not have to worry?" Amanda-Ann asked, "I will get better soon?"

"Soon," Erik lied again. "And in the meantime, you can think about all the things you will want to do once you are stronger again."

Amanda-Ann smiled. "Oh, I know, I will be well again soon, and my friend Christine will be here in a few weeks and then I will be able to hear her sing again, oh Erik, that recital she did last year, that was the most wonderful of all the performances I have been to!"

"You will hear her sing again," Erik vowed. "But now you should rest, my dear, as the doctor recommended."

"Will papa come and see me before I rest?" Amanda-Ann asked.

"Papa will come to you as soon as he can," Erik promised, knowing that his father-in-law needed more time to deal with the fact that he would soon lose his beloved daughter. "An important business situation called him away. He asked me to tell you he loves you and will try to solve that problem as quickly as possible and then come and see you. And I promised him I would make sure that you get some rest."

Amanda-Ann smiled. "You two really coddle me," she said. "I do not think there has ever been a woman that was loved as much as I am by the two of you!"

When she finally closed her eyes and fell asleep, Erik wrote a letter to Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, asking him to come to London a bit earlier than planned. As much as he hated that man and as much as he knew it would pain him to see Christine abused by the Vicomte again, he also knew now that Amanda-Ann did not have much time left. If he wanted to keep his promise that she would hear Christine sing again, there was no time to lose...

Xxxx

Two weeks later, the de Chagnys arrived in London. They found a note at their hotel that Mr. Stanton and Mr. Givenould would ask them to come to dinner.

"So your beast cannot wait to see you again," Raoul teased Christine, while unbuttoning his trousers and freeing his manhood. "First, he asks us to come sooner, now he even invites us to dinner this very evening. I will be generous and allow you to see him," he continued, "if you now please me properly." Christine obediently did as he asked.

Raoul moaned with pleasure. "You are so good at this, you little whore!" he said. "You can never tell me that you had no experience with such things. Did you suck your beast in such a deliciously pleasing way as well?"

Christine did not answer. She just continued to keep her husband happy, no matter how disgusted she was by what he made her do.

Xxxx

When the de Chagny couple arrived at the Stantons' residence later that evening, they only found Mr. Stanton and his son-in-law in the parlor.

"Where is Mme. Givenould?" Christine asked nervously, fearing the worst. "I had hoped I would be able to meet her and renew our friendship."

A dirty smile played around Raoul's lips as he imagined Christine and Amanda-Ann comparing notes about that _thing's_ sexual prowess.

Nobody paid him any attention, though, as Erik gravely informed them that his wife was unwell, but that it was her greatest wish to see Mme. de Chagny and maybe hear her sing. That that was the main reason why he had asked them to come to London sooner and why he had invited them to dinner the very first evening.

Christine paled. "She has not much time left?" she asked, her own problems forgotten over the grief for this young woman that happened to love the same man she did.

Erik shook his head. "No," he whispered. "But she loves you and thinks of you as a friend. She was looking forward so much to seeing you again and hearing you sing again, and I promised her she would. Soon."

Christine nodded. "I will go to her immediately," she announced. "Where do I find her?"

"I will show you," Mr. Stanton offered. "Erik, if you would keep the Vicomte company for a few minutes? I am sure the two of you have important things to discuss regarding new production exchanges or maybe regarding Madame's concert as well?"

Mr. Stantoon quickly led Christine to his daughter's room. "She is very weak," he informed her on the way up, "and she looks terrible. But she does not know that her days are counted, please keep that in mind."

Christine nodded. "I will do nothing that could upset her," she promised. "I care deeply for Mme. Givenould, and I am very sorry about this development."

They had arrived at the door to Amanda-Ann's room. Mr. Stanton quickly forced a smile on his face as he entered. "Amanda-Ann, look who is here!" he said cheerfully. "I am sure you two ladies have a lot to discuss, so I will leave you alone for a while."

He turned to Christine. "Dinner will be served in about 20 minutes," he informed her, thus giving her a friendly reminder not to stay too long and tire his daughter too much.

"I wish I could go down and have dinner with you all as well," Amanda-Ann exclaimed. "I am sure I will be much better soon, now that Mme. de Chagny is here again."

"Not today, darling," Mr. Stanton said, tenderly kissing her on the forehead. "You must still rest, but hopefully when Madame and her husband will come for dinner again, you will be able to join us downstairs."

With that he left the two ladies alone.

"I am so happy that you are finally here!" Amanda-Ann informed Christine. "It seems like an eternity since your last stay in London. I have so wanted to hear you sing again!"

Christine looked at Amanda-Ann's ghostly pale face and knew that the young woman would not live many more days. She also remembered that Erik had already told her that Amanda-Ann wished to hear her sing again and she wondered if there ever would be another chance to sing for the sick woman again, if she did not do so right now.

"Would you want me to sing now?" she therefore offered. "Of course I will do a recital again, but it will be weeks before that, there will be rehearsals,... If you don't want to wait that long, I could sing a song for you now..."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Amanda-Ann exclaimed, feeling invigorated by the mere thought of hearing Christine's voice again.

Christine smiled. "Do you have a song in mind that you would like to hear?" she asked.

"Think of me," Amanda-Ann immediately replied. "That really was my favorite song of all those you sang last year!"

Christine nodded. "I like this song as well," she whispered and Amanda-Ann nodded.

"I know," she said. "Even though you never gave me details. And I wish so much that unlike Elyssa for you there could be a happy end one day."

Christine sighed. She felt tears forming in her eyes, but did not fight them, knowing that at the moment she was more crying about Amanda-Ann's fate than her own, but that Amanda-Ann would think she was crying about her lost love.

"I promised to sing for you," Christine finally tried to change the topic, and concentrating hard, she began to sing Elyssa's aria. Her heart broke as she sang the last words, thinking that they now could also be interpreted as a promise to Amanda-Ann, that she would never forget her and always think of her.

When she finished, Amanda-Ann smiled. "That was beautiful," she said. "Almost more touching than at the concert last year. I am so glad that you are here again. Will you come and see me often, now that you are back?"

Christine nodded. "As often as I can," she promised. "But I fear now I have to go down and join the gentlemen at dinner. And you should rest now."

Amanda-Ann knew that Christine was right. She felt exhausted and needed some sleep. "I will not keep you much longer," she said. "And I will see you soon!"

Xxxx

When Erik went to see his wife after dinner, Amanda-Ann had woken from her nap. She seemed even paler and weaker, though, than before and he knew that the end was approaching fast. Obviously only the hope of seeing her friend again and of hearing her sing had kept Amanda-Ann alive those past couple of weeks.

"So did you enjoy your friend's visit?" he asked softly.

Amanda-Ann smiled weakly. "Very much, Erik," she said. "I had waited so long and now she is finally here again and she sang for me and... I told her I hope that one day she will be happy as well, though of course she is married and I do not know what it was that kept her and the man she loves apart. See, that is the only thing now that I wish for, that I could somehow help her, make her as happy as I am."

Erik pulled her into his arms, making her head rest against his chest. "Unfortunately, we cannot help her," he said uneasily, his heart breaking for both women he loved, for the one in his arms that would be dead soon, as well as for the other, who had to endure the Vicomte's assaults on her body.

He tenderly kissed Amanda-Ann's hair. "You should rest now, my love," he cooed, "you are still weak and this visit was exhausting for you."

"I will rest soon," Amanda-Ann promised. "I just wish... she could be as happy and loved as I am..."

Her last words were barely intelligible, she suddenly went limp in Erik's arms, and as Erik shook her, alarmed, he realized he was holding only his wife's body. Amanda-Ann had died in his arms, under his kiss, after she had seen her friend again and heard her sing again.


	25. Past the Point of No Return

Hi everybody,

once again, thank you all for your loyalty, for reading, adding to favorites, putting on alert, adding to favorites, and most of all, for reviewing! This chapter is another huge step towards the happy ending, and I hope all of you find a certain scene gruesome enough. I know you wanted te worst of the worst to happen, and I did try, though I guess it's still too good for our bad guy..

Oh, and guess what? I feel so filthy right now that I fear I must somehow atone for the atrocities of this story and write something about a *nice* Raoul next...

Yeah, I know. But on with the story, and keep in mind that I do not own those characters...

Chapter 25 – Past the Point of No Return

About half an hour later, Mr. Stanton went to bid his daughter good night. He found his son-in-law holding on to a corpse, begging Amanda-Ann not to leave him alone, covering her pale face and closed eyes with kisses and telling her over and over again how much he loved her.

Mr. Stanton fell to his knees next to Erik and put his arms around both, his dead daughter and his obviously traumatized son-in-law. He felt his own heart breaking at the thought that Amanda-Ann would now never again look at him, smile at him, talk to him. That she would soon lie in a grave forever. But he also realized that Erik needed him now.

"She is a true angel now," he whispered into his son-in-law's ears. "Erik, as much as it hurts us, it is probably best for her. Think about it, now she will never feel pain again, will never be weak again and feel somewhat inferior because she cannot do all the things she would have liked to do."

"She was the best wife any man could wish for," Erik cried, "she would have deserved to be loved with all my heart and yet... for me she only ever was the second best. I am so much in her debt, and now I will never be able to ..."

"You loved her more than you yourself seem to know," Mr. Stanton tried to comfort the broken man in front of him. "And she never missed anything in your love. Remember what the doctor told us when she started to weaken? That without you and your love she would have died much sooner. You gave her strength and a will to live, you made her happy, you were what kept her alive for so much longer."

"And Mme. de Chagny," Erik whispered. The thought somehow frightened him. After all, in a way Christine had always been Amanda-Ann's rival, the woman that stole his love from her. And ironically it had been Amanda-Ann's friendship for that rival what had kept her alive until the reunion with her friend tonight. He wondered if Amanda-Ann had still felt such sympathy for Christine if she had known the truth, if she had known who the man was that Christine still loved although he was lost to her.

Mr. Stanton nodded. "Yes, I think that friendship also meant the world to her. She had never had a friend before. Young ladies normally do not like to sit with a weak, sickly girl. Friendship and love kept her alive for a while longer, and I am forever grateful to you, Erik, for having made her last months happy ones, where she felt safe and strong in your love."

Erik nodded, tears still running down his cheeks. "I know that with Amanda-Ann gone, I have no right to stay here any longer," he mumbled. "If only you would allow me to remain until the... the funeral. I would not want to leave her before..."

Mr. Stanton took the crying man in his arms. "What are you talking about, Erik?" he asked him. "Your place is here, now and always. You are my son-in-law, you are all I have left of my daughter now. When I asked you to marry Amanda-Ann I told you that I had no other heir. My daughter has left us, but the bond she created between us is still there. You are my son now, and my heir. We would both be lonely if you moved out, now that our sweet girl has left us. By staying together and honoring her memory together, we will not be quite as lonely." He paused for emphasis. "That's what Amanda-Ann would want, anyway. For both of us. To have somebody around that we can love."

Erik was unable to speak. He just returned his father-in-law's embrace and nodded.

Xxxx

The funeral was once again very hard on the two lonely men. Amanda-Ann's coffin was filled with flowers, and covered by two enormous wreaths of dark red roses and purest white lilies. Despite the fact that the Stantons had no relatives, there was a huge group of mourners following the coffin. Mr. Stanton's business associates, every single employee of "The Music House", Nadir and Darius, and even the de Chagnys were at the cemetery.

"The Music House" had been closed for two weeks because of the death of its owner, and Christine's recital had been cancelled for that reason as well. Raoul had thought about leaving immediately when he had heard about Amanda-Ann's death, but he desperately wanted to get his hands on at least one new production for the Opéra Populaire, and the more he thought about it, the more he liked the fact that Christine now had to deal with the knowledge that her beast was free to marry again, while she was bound to him forever. It could not hurt to let these two see each other again a few more times and rub that fact in.

Christine, however, was not even thinking about Erik and that he was now widowed and thus free. She only could think of poor Amanda-Ann, who had died so young, after a life of sickness. She did not feel satisfaction at the death of her rival, she never had considered Amanda-Ann a rival anyway, once she had met her. She only thought of her as a friend now, the only friend other than the Girys she had left. And now Amanda-Ann was gone. She would never see her lovely face again, hear her sweet voice again, would never again feel her sympathy for her own fate.

Christine had therefore talked to the conductor of "The Music House" and the members of the theater's choir and orchestra, and had arranged to sing a requiem for Amanda-Ann.

Erik did not know about these plans. Christine had made sure to keep it a secret from anybody but those involved. So once Amanda-Ann's coffin was lowered into the earth, he was surprised to see the musicians pull out their instruments from under their cloaks and coats where they had been hiding them, the choir taking up position next to the open tomb and Christine and three other soloists stepping up and performing Mozart's requiem.

He had tears in his eyes. Christine was singing for his dead wife! His Christine, who had sacrificed herself for him, gave the woman he had betrayed her with a musical send-off. And as much as he enjoyed hearing Christine sing again, he could not help but think that Amanda-Ann would be pleased that her dear friend was singing for her one last time.

Xxxx

Christine and Raoul left London soon after Amanda-Ann's funeral. They never saw Erik again. He was too much in mourning for Amanda-Ann to deal with business arrangements. Therefore Mr. Stanton had taken it upon himself to discuss the upcoming production exchange with Raoul.

Mr. Stanton was deeply affected by his daughter's loss as well, but he was also worried about how hard Erik was taking Amanda-Ann's death. He felt somewhat responsible for the younger man, saw him as Amanda-Ann's legacy, and the need to comfort his son-in-law and to help him deal with the loss, helped himself to deal with the situation. He had a purpose that kept him going, while Erik seemed to have lost all direction.

Mr. Stanton also found some relief for his grief in his work, whereas Erik felt as if music had left him and could not concentrate on the theater. So Mr. Stanton had conducted the negotiations with Raoul and the exchange of yet another production was arranged. There also was talk about rescheduling Christine's cancelled recital, but Raoul had decided that this could wait until later. He was not so sure anymore that he wanted Christine to come back to London now that the beast was widowed.

Christine also knew that she probably would not be allowed to go to London and see Erik again any time soon. In a way that thought made her sad, but she also realized that it was probably better if she and Erik stayed apart. After all, even though he was free now, she was still married. There could therefore never be a future for them again, even if what Mme. Giry had told her so long ago had had some truth in it and Erik did still have feelings for her. No, better not to think about such a possibility. That was over. Her life was with Raoul now, having to endure his humiliating behavior, and allowing him access to her body whenever he felt like it.

Xxx

A few more months passed. To Christine's relief, Raoul began to spend many evenings out of the house. She did not miss him and it did not hurt her once she heard rumors that he was becoming a regular at several night-clubs and brothels. To her this only meant that he would not use her as much anymore for his insatiable sexual appetite.

Raoul was slowly growing tired of his wife, who seemed to only endure him and to not enjoy his attentions. He was not going to divorce her though, no, he enjoyed seeing her unhappy and pining for her freak, but forcing her into submission had somehow lost its appeal for him, and the willing whores seemed to appreciate his attentions so much more. So he began to frequent certain establishments, where gambling tables, wine and stronger alcoholic beverages as well as naked and half-naked women promised all sorts of entertainment to him.

Christine could not care less. Yes, it was embarrassing that her husband sometimes came home so drunk that he did not find his way up to his room and collapsed downstairs, sometimes after having vomited all over the place. She knew that the servants were talking about this and pitying her, but she felt as if it was mostly them that should be pitied, for they would have to clean up the mess Raoul left behind.

He began to sleep in and neglect his duties, too. Christine knew that he very rarely went to the Opéra Populaire anymore, and she suspected that he was also late in providing the pledged financial support for the theater.

When Firmin and André finally decided to pay her a visit, she saw these suspicions confirmed. Of course she told them that her husband had not been well recently, that the lack of payment could only be an oversight caused by his health problems, and that she would make sure they got their money as soon as possible, but from the managers' reaction she knew that they did not believe one word she said and had their own theories about why they had not been paid. That conversation was every bit as embarrassing for her as the servants' constant gossip about their master's debaucheries.

Christine therefore finally confronted Raoul. She told him that she did not care what he did during the evenings and nights, that she was not jealous of his whores at all, but that she did not want to hear complaints about his neglected duties ever again. "You will go to the Opéra Populaire and settle this affair with Messieurs André and Firmin," she told him firmly. "That is the least you can do. At least keep up appearances. Pretend to still be an honorable member of society."

"And what will you do if I fulfill your wish?" he asked lasciviously.

"I will allow you to visit your whores as often as you want," Christine replied coldly. "After all, that's the only type of woman you know how to deal with."

"You would not talk to me like that if I were your beast," Raoul spat at her. "If he were here, you would willingly shed all your clothes right now in the middle of the day..."

"I would do no such thing and he would ask no such thing of me," Christine retorted, disgusted by Raoul's insinuations. "You go and talk to the managers. I do not want to hear complaints from them ever again. I have never felt so embarrassed in all my life, having to make excuses for you."

"I will talk to them," Raoul promised, "and afterwards I'll have some fun with women that appreciate my attentions..."

The last words were meant to hurt her, to show her how little he respected their marriage. But they had the opposite effect.

"Do whatever you want," Christine replied coldly. "Just make sure the managers do not come and complain again."

Xxxx

About five hours later, Raoul was brought home completely drunk, naked and dying. After his encounter with the managers he had gone to his favorite brothel, where he had first imbibed heavily, complaining to two of the girls that his wife did not appreciate him and denied him. Then, already heavily drunk and close to alcohol poisoning, he had taken both girls to a room where he had shed his clothes, made them do the same and had tried to engage them in some rather sadistic activities. Apparently he had tried to punish them for the way he felt his wife denied him. When he had begun to hit them hard with a whip he had somehow produced from his shedded cloak, they had called for help. The intoxicated madman with his whip had been hard to stop. But finally the combined efforts of all the inhabitants of the brothel had managed to throw him out of the room.

He had been so furious and drunk that he had continued to whirl the ship, and in doing so had lost equilibrium and fallen down the stairs. That had not only resulted in him injuring his spine, it had also caused him to vomit. When the girls had seen their noble customer lying there lifeless in his vomit, they had quickly packed him and his clothes into his carriage and sent him home. They did not want to have anything to do with his accident or possible death.

Christine was shocked when he was brought home in such a way. But she could not feel sorry for her dying husband. All she could feel was relief that soon she would be free of him.

She told the servants to clean him up and dress him in his nightclothes and to call a doctor, but when the latter arrived and told her that there was no hope and that the Vicomte would probably not regain consciousness, she was almost glad that she would not have to talk to him again.

Raoul passed away that very night. Of course his sudden death gave room to all sorts of speculations and gossip. Christine did her best, though, to cover up the whole affair. She paid the girls at the brothel a huge sum to buy their silence, and did the same with her own servants and the doctor. Even though she did not grieve for Raoul, she wore widow's black in order to keep up appearances and whenever anybody asked her about her husband's death, she told them that poor Raoul had not been feeling well for quite some time and had obviously fallen down the stairs at their home when overcome by a dizzy spell. She did her best to keep Raoul's name clear.

Christine had expected that now, that Raoul was dead, she would have to leave their house and go back to the Opéra Populaire and earn her own living, since she assumed that Raoul's family would not want anything to do with her, the former singer. But to her surprise it turned out that he had not left a will, and that therefore she, as his widow, would inherit all his possessions, while the distant de Chagny relatives only got the title and the mansion in Brittany.

Christine also inherited all of Raoul's business obligations, such as his position as patron of the Opéra Populaire. Of course she made sure that the managers were paid regularly from now on, but at first she avoided the theater. After all, she was supposed to be a mourning widow, and thus getting involved with any sort of entertainment would have been considered too frivolous. She knew she could not go there until at least half a year after her husband's death had passed, and then only for business reasons, not to see a performance.

Fortunately, sets and costumes from Erik's latest new production had just arrived in Paris in exchange for the sets of "Nozze di Figaro" and thus the Opéra Populaire had a new play to rehearse and to prepare for and no actions on her part were required for the moment. The managers were asking her, though, if she might be able to return to the stage after a suitable period of mourning. Christine sadly shook her head. She would have been able to do that if Raoul's family had cast her out. In that case she could have taken on her maiden name again and continued her career, but as the inheriting widow, she still was Mme. de Chagny, a member of a noble family, and as such she could not go back to performing.

Christine promised the managers, though, that she would take a more active role in the running of the theater, once her year of mourning was over and that she would help them with artistic decisions.

In a way Christine felt happier than she had in a very long time. While she still had to take Raoul's family name into consideration and had to make sure she met the expectations the French nobility had of a grieving widow, she was free now, and would be even freer once the year of mourning would be over. Since Raoul's relatives were not living in Paris and would not dictate her actions, she would be able to make her own plans, to keep her own social circle, to see the Girys more often again and to spend much more time at the Opéra Populaire than she had been able to do during her marriage. She would be able to lead her own life.


	26. We Are Mystified, We Suspect Foul Play

Sorry, sorry, sorry! I thought I would be able to update two weeks ago, but I didn't get around to it,... and last week, well, same situation. Sigh! But I am confident about next week...

Anyway, thank you all for sticking with me despite my irregular updates, thank you for reading, for adding to favorites, for putting on alert, and most of all, for your reviews. Those really show me that you care! Ha, ha, FantomFriend, how did you know what is about to happen? LOL! You pretty much nailed it!

So, on to the next chapter, and eep in mind that those characters do not belong to me...

Chapter 26 – We Are Mystified, We Suspect Foul Play

A few more months passed. Christine was slowly beginning to enjoy life again. Being free of Raoul was like having a heavy burden lifted off her shoulders. True, the rules of society still somewhat restricted her, she could not do everything she would have liked to do, like returning to the stage, but at least she could make her own decisions now, organize her days the way she wanted to, and, most importantly, her body once again belonged to her.

There were even days now that she allowed herself to think of Erik. Wasn't it strange that they both were now widowed? Was there some meaning to this, had fate maybe meant to repair a bad situation, did she dare hope? She now clearly remembered what Mme. Giry had told her after her first visit to London, that Erik had maybe only married Amanda-Ann out of pity, because he felt some kinship with the sick girl, because he knew what it meant to live with a handicap, and that he had known it would only be a short-lived marriage anyway and he would soon be free again to marry Christine. Could there have been some truth to that interpretation of the situation? Was it possible that in his heart he had never betrayed her?

But if that were the case, what would he think of her now? Wouldn't he feel betrayed, since she had married the Vicomte? Especially since he did not know about Meg's injury around the time of her wedding, and the fact that Raoul had threatened to fire Meg, as well as inform the authorities about Erik's whereabouts if she did not marry him. There was no way Erik could know about Raoul's ultimatum. Of course he would have figured out by now that Raoul had known where he had gone and that he might have used this knowledge to force her into submission. But was there a guarantee that Erik did not think Raoul had gleaned that knowledge from her? What if he thought she had abandoned him for a handsome, rich man? What if he thought she had betrayed his whereabouts to his rival?

If she were honest, she would have admitted to herself that around the first anniversary of Amanda-Ann's death she had expected to receive a letter from Erik. To be asked by him to come to London, so that they could talk. But maybe that had been too much to hope for. Maybe his love for her had died long ago, when he had learned about her marriage to Raoul. Maybe he did think she had enjoyed this marriage and therefore had lost all respect for her. Or maybe... her stupid heart could not help hoping for a sign that Erik still cared for her. Maybe it was still too soon, maybe he was waiting till her own year of mourning was over?

Christine shook her head. She should not lose herself that much in dreaming. So much had happened those past few years, even if Erik still loved her, was it really possible for them to start again? She shuddered at the thought of Erik having noticed several times how Raoul had touched her inappropriately in public. What if Erik had thought she had enjoyed such treatment, maybe even encouraged it? He surely would not want her in that case. And in a way she could even understand if he did not want her anymore. If she thought about some of the things Raoul had made her do, she felt like a dirty whore herself. She could blame no honorable man for not wanting anything to do with her. No, it was best to forget about this dream. Even though they were both free now, Erik was as lost to her as he had been before. There was no hope for love in her life anymore. She would have to remain a widow. The sooner she accepted that truth, the better.

And she should finally stop daydreaming and start working. She had promised Messieurs Firmin and André to look up a document that Raoul had supposedly been safekeeping for them, some notes about negotiations with a new soprano, who had still been under contract for several months at a theater in Italy when they first contacted her, but would soon be free to come to Paris and take over as prima donna from Carlotta, whose voice was now finally decaying. Of course the managers had hoped for Christine herself to step in now that she was widowed, but since she had had to decline this offer due to her position in society, it was of utter importance to finalize negotiations with this other soprano. In order to do so and to make this lady a binding offer, Firmin and André needed to have access to those notes from several months ago.

Christine had no idea where Raoul might keep such things. She had gone through his desk after his death and had looked through all the papers there, but she was sure that she had not seen anything about this singer. There had been some correspondence with Erik and Mr. Stanton regarding the production exchange, a few bills, including one from the freight company that had moved the sets from Paris to London, Raoul's business cards, his address book and similar stuff, but nothing about a soprano.

Where else could he keep such things? Or had she maybe simply overlooked this document? Maybe it had somehow slipped into one of the envelopes or folders together with some other papers and she had not noticed it? She had been so excited about finally being free that maybe she had not been too attentive and something had escaped her.

Christine decided to give the huge desk another try. After all, Raoul had been rather negligent the past few months of his life. It was not completely inconceivable that he had put such an important document into a folder where it did not belong. She would have to go through everything again, taking a look at every single piece of paper.

This was a tedious task. Christine decided it would be best to take out all the drawers and empty their contents on the table and then to sort the papers, and put them back in order. One drawer would be used for documents pertaining to the Opéra Populaire, one drawer for household bills and documents, one for what she called "Society", addresses, invitations etc.

She quickly took out the first two drawers and emptied them, putting the empty drawers aside. Then she pulled out the third one. When she put it next to the other two, her eyes widened. The third drawer was considerably shorter than the others. How could that be? From the outside the desk appeared equally deep. Then why was one drawer shorter? Was there maybe some hidden compartment behind it? Her curiosity was piqued.

Christine lit a candle, knelt down in front of the desk and held the candle into the empty space where the third drawer had been. She immediately noticed an unusual knob protruding from the wood at one side of the back of the hole. When she touched it, the back fell open, thus revealing a small compartment behind the drawer. It was full with all sorts of papers!

Christine quickly reached in and grabbed a handful, thinking that maybe the missing document would be somewhere in this hiding place. When she looked at the envelopes she had pulled free, she almost fainted. She recognized her own handwriting, and the address was to Erik Givenould, London. How could one of her letters to Erik be in here? What kind of a nightmare was this? Was she going mad? She reached into the hole again, and found more and more letters there, some written by herself, some by Mme. Giry, all addressed to Erik. Then she also found some that were addressed to them, in Nadir's neat handwriting. Some, obviously the older ones, had been opened.

Christine had to sit down. She felt dizzy. Everything was swimming before her eyes. Was this the explanation? Was this why she had never received a letter from Erik again? Neither she herself, nor Mme. Giry? Had those letters somehow been intercepted by Raoul, withheld from them to drive a wedge between her and Erik? She looked at those letters addressed to her and Antoinette by Nadir. The post stamp was not clearly legible in all cases, but it was obvious that those were the missing letters that Erik had sent them and that they had never received. They had both felt abandoned by him, and he had been writing regularly! Even though apparently he had not received any letters from them. Just like they had continued to write even though they never received a reply.

Christine broke down sobbing as she finally understood the immensity of Raoul's crime. He had somehow gotten access to those letters and made sure that neither party ever received them. It was obvious that he must have had help from the managers, for even as a patron he had had no access to the employees' private mail. But of course all outgoing and incoming mail went through the hands of Firmin and André. They must have been in it as well.

Christine bit her lip. Was there anybody she could still trust? She had been surrounded by falsehood and betrayal and had not noticed it. She had practically been driven into marrying Raoul by lies and withheld truths. Erik had never stopped writing her, Erik had never abandoned her, without Raoul's intervention, she and Erik would by now be married. They would be happy, and maybe... she blushed at the thought of a baby. Never before had she wished for one, on the contrary, the thought of bearing Raoul's child had somewhat disgusted and frightened her. But with Erik... if they had not been forced to believe that the other one had forgotten them, if things had gone as they once had hoped... oh yes, in that case, Christine would have very much wanted a child.

She did not know how long she had been sitting there, unable to move, unable to think, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil, when she finally remembered that there had been some more documents in that compartment. Maybe there was something else of importance?

She knelt down in front of the desk again and gingerly reached for a huge parcel of sorts, a wrapped bundle of papers. When she opened it, she almost screamed. She knew that flyer only too well. Of course she had only ever seen one copy of it, not hundreds, neatly packed. And there was a bill as well...

"God gracious!" she whispered, for the suspicion forming in her head was simply too vile, too abject, too enormous to be true. Could it really be,... Had Raoul had those flyers printed to make her believe that Erik...? Was it possible that Erik had not been engaged to Amanda-Ann when Raoul showed her that apparent proof of Erik's betrayal, that Erik might not even have considered proposing to Amanda-Ann ever? Was it possible that Erik had been faithful after all, and that only her own betrayal, her marriage with Raoul had driven him into Amanda-Ann's arms?

Surely not even Raoul could have acted in such a criminal, heartless way? But if not, what else could be the explanation for all the things she had found today? She felt a headache coming. Raoul had manipulated her in the worst possible way, and she had fallen for it. Raoul had obviously read most of her letters, Raoul had known where Erik was and had systematically driven them apart. Raoul had taken the happiness out of her life, had forced her to marry him so that he could turn her into his whore, and had obviously also made Erik believe that she had forgotten and abandoned him.

Christine felt like somebody had pulled the floor away underneath her feet. She felt like falling into an abyss. How could one man be so mean? How could one single person cause so much suffering?

After a while, she calmed down. She had just made an important discovery. But this did not concern her alone, there were other people involved. Erik, for one, and Antoinette Giry. Her letters had been intercepted as well. She, too, had the right to learn the truth. And Erik...

Christine was not sure if the truth could change anything between her and Erik now, but she felt that he had the right to know what had happened. She just was not sure how to tell him. She did not want to use Raoul's betrayal as an excuse for herself. After all, she had lost faith in Erik, she had believed Raoul's lies. Because of the flyer, true, but shouldn't she have known Erik better? And Raoul? She had not trusted him too much, when he had approached her again after her debut. She had somehow sensed that he had changed, that he was not the boy anymore she had befriended all those years ago. Why then had she trusted him when he showed her that announcement? Why had she not realized that something was not quite right? Why hadn't she known deep down that Erik would _never_ get engaged to another woman without telling her first?

Oh yes, she was guilty as well, almost as guilty as Raoul. And she knew that Erik had all the reasons in the world to feel betrayed by her, even if he knew the truth. During her two visits in London he had made it clear that he despised her. The truth would not really change that. For it was her own, Christine's fault, that they had lost each other. Until now she had believed that he somehow had felt compelled to make Amanda-Ann's last months or years happy ones, that it had been him to abandon her, if only for a short period, and that for some reason she had not received the letter in which he told her so. But the reality was different. It had been her who had given up on Erik, who had married Raoul.

Christine felt depressed. Somehow she felt as if only now everything was truly over. Only now she had lost all hope. "He can never forgive me," she whispered. "I showed no trust in him."

Xxxx

The next day, Christine visited Mme. Giry. The ballet mistress was surprised to see her foster daughter arrive with a huge bag.

Christine slumped into the offered chair, put her bag on the table and whispered. "Open it!"

Mme. Giry was worried about Christine. The young woman seemed deeply shaken, her eyes were shining in a strange way. Almost, as if the girl were about to go mad.

"Are you alright?" Mme. Giry asked, concerned.

Christine laughed shrilly. "Alright? Who? Me? Open the bag and have a look at its contents, and then ask me again. If by then you still think it possible for me to ever be alright again..."

Mme. Giry approached the bag now, one eye still on Christine, so that she could react, should the younger woman show any more signs of distress. She was sure now that the bag contained the explanation for Christine's strange behavior. Whatever was in there must have brought upon Christine's condition, for it was clear to her now that the girl was close to a nervous breakdown.

Mme. Giry quickly opened the bag and pulled out the letters, the flyers, the bill for the leaflets. "Oh my God!" she whispered, then looked at Christine. "How? Where?" she asked.

"Raoul!" Christine spat. "He forged the announcement of Erik's engagement, he intercepted our letters! He wanted me and he got me!"

Mme. Giry quickly put her arms around the shaking girl. "At least we know the truth now," she told Christine. "It was not your fault, nor was it Erik's that the two of you were driven apart."

"I should have trusted him!" Christine wailed. "I believed Raoul, even though I sensed that he was not a decent person. I should have known that Erik would never betray me and that Raoul should never have been trusted! I knew them both, their characters, and still walked into the trap!"

"You were young and inexperienced," Mme. Giry tried to calm her. "And we had not heard from Erik in a long time. It is only natural that you were beginning to doubt, that you became easy prey for the Vicomte."

Mme. Giry smiled. "Thank God, he is dead," she added. "I normally do not even think that about dead people, but he got his due. And you are free of him now. And Erik... "

"He can never forgive me!" Christine cried. "I accused him of infidelity, when it was me..."

Mme. Giry shook her head. "Since he loves you, he will forgive you," she said. "Once he learns the truth."

She put everything back into the bag and handed it to Christine. "You must show him," she said. "He must see all this with his own eyes. He will understand then."

Christine stared at her. "Show him? Show Erik?" she asked. "How can I?"

Mme. Giry laughed. "It's simple. You board a train to Calais, take the ferry to Dover and then a train to London. You take residence at a hotel and then you go either to Erik's home or his theater and ask to speak to him in an urgent, important matter. If you think he may not want to see you, you can say that it has something to do with the production exchange, that you are there in a professional capacity."

Christine shook her head. "I cannot travel without a chaperone," she objected. "And how can I face Erik knowing that it was me who betrayed him?"

Mme. Giry thought about it for a moment, then she announced, "I will go with you as your chaperone. Since Firmin and André obviously had a hand in Raoul's plot as well, I have some leverage to force them to give me special leave. And as to Erik... just show him the proof of Raoul's misdeeds and I am confident the two of you will soon be a happy couple..."


	27. Love Me, That's All I Ask Of You

Hi everybody! The good news is: there is an update this week. The bad news is: there might not be another one for 2-3 weeks. I know, I know, I am bad. :-( I hope you will still stick with me despite the long wait, and maybe leave me a review or two? You know, readers are a writer's inspiration! So, every favorite, alert, review is a motivation... (Thanks to all those who already do support me with such small signs of appreciation!)

I do hope, though, that you will be happy with the new chapter, after all, things are going to look up for our love-birds! And keep in mind that I dont own those characters...

Chapter 27 – Love Me, That's All I Ask Of You

A week later Christine and Mme. Giry arrived in London. Christine was a nervous wrack. In a way she was looking forward to seeing Erik again and to explaining the whole situation to him, but on the other hand she feared their encounter. She had no idea how he would react to the revelations she was going to present him with. Would he understand that she had not had much of a choice in marrying Raoul? Would he accept that she had been tricked and thus willing to forgive her? Or would he blame her for her lack of trust and faith in him?

Christine sighed. How could he not blame her? Now that she knew the truth she blamed herself every minute of every day for having walked into Raoul's trap that easily, for having believed Raoul's lies.

But even if Erik believed her and found it in himself to forgive her for her betrayal, could he ever get past the fact that she was not only damaged goods but had allowed another man to treat her like a whore in public? Wouldn't he be disgusted with her now after having watched her with Raoul? After he had witnessed that she never objected when Raoul's hands were all over her in public?

The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that no matter what she would say or do, Erik would never be able to forgive her. At best he would be able to understand why she had done what she had done, but there was no way he would want her now. He would still despise her the way any honorable man despises a loose woman.

"Don't worry too much, child," Mme. Giry tried to comfort the brooding young woman. "His love cannot have died that easily. And once he knows what you have been going through, he will not be able to keep up his cold distance any longer. He will take you into his arms and make sure no harm will come to you ever again." She smiled. "If I am not mistaken, I think our boy might even feel guilty for not having been able to protect you and keep you safe, and he might blame himself for everything that has happened."

Christine was not convinced. But she nodded bravely. The dreaded moment was approaching. She had just packed all the evidence into her huge bag again and was about to set out for "The Music House" to meet Erik there. She would have to go there alone. For some reason Mme. Giry refused to accompany her. When Christine had asked her to come with her, to help her convince Erik, her surrogate mother had just smiled. "This is between you and Erik, my dear," she had said. "An old woman like myself would just be in the way. The two of you will be more comfortable without me, discussing your private problems."

Christine was not sure the Madame was right. Somehow she thought that the presence of a third person, somebody that he respected, might help keep Erik calm and make him more willing to listen to her. But Mme. Giry had made her decision and could not be swayed.

"I will try and help you in another way, though," Antoinette promised. "I will go and meet this friend of Erik's, this Nadir Khan. I will try to find out how Erik saw things when he did not receive our letters any longer, and then I will explain the situation to him. He seems a reasonable man and might be able to help your cause. I am sure his word does carry some weight with Erik, so in case your first meeting does not go the way we hope it will, maybe this Monsieur Khan might be able to talk some sense into the man."

Christine nodded. Mme. Giry was probably right. It could not hurt to get the Persian's support. But she was not too convinced either that having him as her ally would help. "If Erik thinks of me now as an unfaithful woman and a shameless whore, nothing and nobody will make him change his mind," she thought sadly.

Xxxx

When she arrived at "The Music House", she immediately asked for Monsieur Givenould. She was told that Erik was busy inspecting the painting of new sets, but would be available shortly. Would she mind waiting in Monsieur Givenould's office? Christine nodded, nervously playing with her gloves. She was glad the concierge had not asked for the purpose of her visit. He had most likely recognized her from her previous visits with Raoul and probably assumed that she was here to discuss future production exchanges or maybe even negotiate for another recital.

When Erik returned from the painter's workshop half an hour later, he was told that a lady was waiting for him in his office. "The French lady," the stagehand, who had shown Christine to the office, explained. "The wife of the nobleman, the one who did a recital once."

Erik stared at him. Christine? What was she doing in London, and in his office? He could not quite believe it. "Ch... You mean, Madame de Chagny?" he asked.

The stagehand nodded. "Yes, that's the name. That singer turned aristocrat or whatever she was. That one. She's in your office."

Erik suddenly could not reach his office fast enough. He could not imagine what reason Christine might have for coming to see him, but he was eager to find out. He had a feeling that something important might have happened that had brought her here.

When he entered his office, Christine stood to greet him. Erik stared at her in wonder. The dress she was wearing was elegant, but extremely modest, not showing off too much cleavage. What a difference to her very low-cut dresses during her previous visits! She seemed a bit nervous, but if possible, even more beautiful than ever.

For a moment they simply stared at one another, then Christine averted her eyes and began to nervously play with her glove again. This was now the decisive moment, her one and only chance to explain to Erik what had happened. The next few minutes would either condemn her forever or bring some hope back into her life.

"Erik," she began hesitantly, then quickly corrected herself. "I mean, Monsieur Givenould,..." It somehow seemed wrong for her to address him by his first name after she had betrayed him by marrying Raoul.

"I... that is... ," she stammered, wringing her hands. "I wanted to tell you... show you..." God, this was more difficult than she had thought. She felt Erik's scrutinizing gaze upon her and became even more nervous. "I... Mme. Giry meant... um... "

She finally broke down, fell into the chair again, pressed her hands to her eyes and sobbed. "I can't do this," she whimpered.

"Christine," Erik's calm voice interrupted her crying. "What is the meaning of this? What are you trying to tell me? Calm down, nobody is going to hurt you."

"This," Christine sobbed, pointing at a bag he had not noticed before. "I.. see for yourself!"

Erik hesitated for a moment. Should he check out the bag or try to comfort Christine? The woman was clearly hysteric. She behaved as if she expected him to bite her head off the next moment or something like that. He was curious about the bag, yes, but that could wait. Christine needed him. If he did not manage to comfort her, she was in danger of suffering a nervous shock or breakdown.

His love for the miserable woman won out. Erik quickly went to the chair she was sitting in, knelt down next to it and put his arms around her. "Christine," he cooed into her ear. "Calm down, you are safe. Whatever it is you are upset about, will be taken care of shortly. Just tell me what it is that makes you cry so hard."

Christine shivered. It was so good to feel his arms around her, to hear him speak to her so kindly. Oh, how soon this all would be over, once he knew how she had lost all faith in him and had allowed Raoul to trick her.

"You will not be so kind to me once you know everything," she wailed. "You will hate me, spit at me, despise me, for I betrayed you in the most terrible way!"

Erik continued to talk to her, while beginning to caress her hair. "Sh, Christine, just tell me what is troubling you," he told her. Seeing her so miserable almost hurt him physically. Her tears broke his heart.

"Just open the bag," Christine sobbed. "And then... " She turned away from Erik's caresses. "I don't deserve your compassion," she cried. "Just open that bag and let's be done with this! I … I cannot … this is too much for me!"

Erik finally realized that she would not calm down until he had had a look at the bag and its contents. He could not imagine for the world what could be in there that could upset Christine so much, but in her opinion it obviously was of the greatest importance that he have a look at that damned bag.

In order to reassure her, Erik therefore approached the bag and cautiously opened it. It seemed filled with all sorts of papers. He carefully put out the first folder and opened it.

"Christine!" Erik was not sure what it was he was looking at. Letters, all sorts of letters, most of them unopened. Letters he had sent to Christine and Antoinette through Nadir, that had clearly been posted but never had been opened. Letters to him from both ladies, that were sealed but had never been mailed. "What is the meaning of this?"

Erik had no explanation for all this. He somewhat understood that he was looking at letters the ladies had written to him before Christine's wedding, during the time he had been waiting for news from them so desperately, but for some reason those letters had never been posted. But why and how? And why for Heaven's sake, had the two ladies not opened the letters he had written to them? For the post stamp on his own letters clearly indicated they were from that time period when he had implored them both to finally write again, to tell him that they still thought of him and cared for him.

"Raoul!" Christine spat.

"The Vicomte?" Erik still did not quite understand. "How does he enter into all this? What has he to do with those letters?"

"Everything!" The hatred for her dead husband that had tricked her so badly finally took over. "He intercepted our letters. He must have read some of them, for he always knew where you had gone. After a while he apparently decided that neither of us should receive another letter. He must have had help from Firmin and André. I never knew until … he had a hidden compartment in the desk. I was looking for notes from negotiations with a soprano when I found..."

"Christine, I do not understand one word you are saying," Erik once again tried to make her tell her story in a more coherent way. "You say Raoul must have read our letters, but at first he kept forwarding them. After a while he must have confiscated them, even without reading them, is that what you wanted to tell me?"

Christine nodded. "Yes," she admitted. "I only found out a few days ago. I was looking for a document he had been safekeeping for the managers. I am still their patron, you know," she explained. "I could not find it, so I searched everything and finally discovered this hidden compartment in his desk, behind the third drawer. That's where I found those letters and..."

She pointed at the bag, unable to continue.

"There is more?" Erik asked incredulously. If what Christine had told him was true and Raoul had intercepted their letters, he could understand how she might have felt abandoned by him, how she might have doubted his love and finally had accepted the Vicomte's proposal.

Christine nodded. "Take out that package," she said, "and then tell me if you have ever before seen such a leaflet. Though I guess I know the answer," she added dejectedly.

Erik pulled out a rather large bundle, obviously some papers, still wrapped. When he removed the outer wrapping, he stared at the announcement of a concert to celebrate his own engagement to his dear Amanda-Ann. His eyes widened. "What is that?" he asked Christine. "Where did you get that? We never had such a concert to begin with, and the … the date is all wrong!"

Christine nodded. Ever since she had found those hundreds of copies of the leaflet, she had known that the one Raoul had used to make her marry him had been forged by the Vicomte to make her believe that Erik had abandoned her for another. But she needed to be absolutely sure about that.

"Can you swear this?" she asked. "That... that this is a fraud?"

"Of course it is a fraud!" Erik exclaimed. "Ask my father-in-law! We never had such an announcement printed, we never had such a concert, Amanda-Ann's health would not have allowed such a public celebration of our engagement anyway, and the date is all wrong. I only proposed to Amanda-Ann weeks later, and only because..."

"Because I had married Raoul by then," Christine finished for him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, that, and because her father begged me to marry her," Erik confessed.

"He what?" Christine's mouth fell open.

"He had realized that Amanda-Ann loved me," Erik explained. "He was fairly certain that my feelings for her were not those of a lover, but rather of a brother or friend. He asked me if my heart was free or if another woman had my word. I had just learned about your marriage and therefore told him that the woman I had hoped to marry had betrayed me, and that I would therefore remain unmarried for the rest of my life. Then he told me about Amanda-Ann's feelings for me and asked if it would be too much to ask of me to make her happy."

Christine almost cried again at the thought of Amanda-Ann. "She never knew you only married her out of pity and because her father asked you to do so," she said.

"She was the most wonderful wife any man could hope for," Erik admitted. "And I did love her more than I myself realized, just not... but I miss her every minute of every day. If I did not lose my mind when you married that Vicomte, it is thanks to her. Her love was like the healing balm on my broken heart."

"Raoul showed me such a leaflet," Christine mumbled. "He said he had received it from a contact of his in London. I thought it was genuine."

"You had not heard from me in months," Erik began to understand what had happened. "And when you saw this apparent proof of my infidelity..."

Christine nodded. "And then Meg broke her ankle," she explained, rummaging through the bottom of the bag and producing a doctor's bill proofing that Meg's accident had happened around the same time. "And Raul said that as the patron he could fire her during her convalescence, and that he would make sure she was out in the streets and her mother as well, if I did not marry him. And that he would tell the police where "the Phantom" had gone."

Erik nodded. "So you agreed to marry him."

Christine nodded, her cheeks burning with shame. "Yes. I believed his lies. I lost my trust in you and rather believed him, even though I should have known better. It is all my fault, Erik. I am not here to beg your forgiveness for my betrayal, but because I think you deserve to know the truth as well. That's why I came immediately after I found all the evidence and figured out what had really happened."

"You are not at fault," Erik tried to comfort her, for now that he knew the truth, she seemed to him as innocent and blameless as ever. And if possible he loved her even more than before. She had betrayed him only to keep him and Meg safe, and he knew that she had suffered a lot during her marriage to the Vicomte. "There is nothing you need forgiveness for," he reassured her. "You were young and lonely, you were confronted with what seemed like proof of my betrayal and you tried to protect those you love, me, Meg and Antoinette. That was a noble motive of yours."

He once again took her into his arms. "Do you still love me, Christine?" he asked tenderly. "Can we pretend none of this happened and start again? Will you give me a second chance?"

"I do not deserve you!" Christine tried with all her strength to wiggle out of Erik's embrace. "There is no chance for us now, not after what Raoul did to me, after the way he treated me! No man wants to marry a dirty whore, and he turned me into one!"

"You are no dirty whore, Christine," Erik tried to calm her. "I know he treated you like one, I saw how he touched you inappropriately in my presence. I also understand that you could not protest, that he had probably threatened you to inform the police about my true identity should you not endure his shameless behavior."

"But I was his whore in a way," Christine explained.

"Did you enjoy it?" Erik asked pointedly.

"Enjoy it? Are you mad? How can you insult me so?" Christine slapped Erik hard across the face, making his skin-like mask fly off. "Of course not! How do you think I liked it having to open my blouse and bare my breasts for him whenever he felt like it? Once he even rang for the butler with my breasts completely exposed and laughed at my embarrassment. And in our bedroom... " She was too embarrassed to describe her ordeal in more detail. "He once said, he would prefer if I never had any clothes on. Ever..." she sobbed. "And you think I enjoyed that? Being a piece of flesh to him he could grope at will, a body he could use for his own pleasure and satisfaction whenever he felt like it?"

Erik laughed. "Listen to you, Christine!" he said. "Don't you realize that every word you say confirms that you are nothing like a whore at all? You let him use you because he had means to ensure your obedience. You did not enjoy it, on the contrary, you still feel humiliated and sullied because of it. You are not missing his inappropriate behavior in the least. Therefore stop calling yourself a whore. I know you are not. You are still worthy of love. That an evil man has mistreated and abused you does not make you unworthy in my eyes. On the contrary. It only makes me want to make it all up to you, to fill the rest of your life with love and happiness after all you had to go through for my and Meg's sake."

He reached for Christine's chin and turned her head so that she was facing him. "Once again, Christine," he said, his voice full of love. "I still love you. Will you still have me? Will you allow me to try and erase those terrible years from your memory with my love? Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

"Oh Erik," Christine sighed.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, looking her deep into the eyes. As she did not seem to object, he lowered his lips to meet hers.

Christine answered his kiss by opening her mouth to him, her tongue meeting his halfway. They could not seem to get enough of each other. After a long while they finally broke apart, both breathless.

"I love you," Christine whispered. "I have always loved you!"

"I love you, too," Erik confessed. "I think I loved you even when I thought you had betrayed me."

Christine suddenly stiffened. She had spotted a small drawing of Amanda-Ann on Erik's desk. "But," she whispered. "Amanda-Ann, your first wife. I know you cared for her deeply and that your marriage was a much happier one than mine. Will you not feel like betraying her if we..."

Erik smiled. "Amanda-Ann believed in you when I doubted you," he told her. "She always said that you were a good, warmhearted woman, that she did not understand why you had married the Vicomte, since the two of you had nothing in common, that she suspected that you were in love with somebody else you could not have." He sighed. "She never knew it was me you loved or that you were the girl I had told her about that had left me for another man with a handsome face. But the last thing she said before dying was that she wished you could be as happy as she was. I think she would approve."

"She said that?" Christine asked. "She was such a sweet darling. I am so sorry she had to die so young. I will never forget her and always honor her memory. But if there is one good thing about those past few years it is that at least she had some happiness in her life thanks to you."

Erik nodded. "I will never forget her either. She will always have a place in my heart. I hope you will not begrudge her that."

Christine smiled. "Never!" she promised, knowing that she loved Erik even more for the way he had treated his first wife.

Their lips found each other again in a loving, passionate kiss.


	28. Too Many Years Fighting Back Tears

I am baacckk! Have you missed me? I am really sorry for making you wait that long, but I was extremely busy! I just hope you have not forgotten me in the meantime and will still enjoy this story. Once again, thank you all for reading, putting on alert, adding to favorites, and most of all, for those encouraging, motivating reviews that keep me going!

Now on with the story, and keep in mind that I do not own those characters... sad, I know, but true nevertheless...

Chapter 28 – Too Many Years Fighting Back Tears

At the same time Christine met with Erik, Mme. Giry paid a visit to Nadir. Fortunately, the Persian was home, although he had not expected anybody. He was very surprised to hear from Darius that a lady wanted to talk to him, even more so, when he looked at the calling card his servant held out to him.

"Mme. Giry?" he exclaimed. "Erik's..." He was not sure, what to call her. For what exactly was her relationship with Erik nowadays? The two had once been very close, almost like siblings, but then, the Giry-woman as well as her surrogate daughter Christine Daaé, Erik's fiancée, had stopped writing, thus causing Erik severe pain, and a while later Christine had broken Erik's heart by marrying that Vicomte. Nadir was not sure if Erik had been in contact with Mme. Giry after that, if he blamed her for Christine's betrayal, maybe even suspected she might have persuaded Christine to choose the wealthy suitor. He also could not quite imagine what she was doing in London right now, for as far as he knew, the Opéra Populaire had a few more weeks till summer break, and surely the ballet mistress was needed there for rehearsals and practice?

Be that as it may, Nadir had a feeling that Mme. Giry's presence here in London must be somehow important. If she had left her job at such a time, she must have a very good reason for doing so. And to Nadir it was obvious that whatever had brought her here must have something to do with either Erik, or Christine, possibly both of them. He was therefore curious to learn what she wanted from him.

"Quick, Darius," he told his servant, "show the lady in!"

A few minutes later, Darius introduced Mme. Giry to Nadir and went to prepare some coffee for their guest at his master's request.

"Mme. Giry," Nadir began the conversation. "I am pleased to finally meet you. Erik has told me a lot about you..." He let his voice trail, hoping for an explanation of her unexpected visit.

"Has he indeed?" Mme. Giry asked, then continued, "I bet that was a long time ago. Before..." She sighed as she thought of the Vicomte's machinations that had driven a wedge between Erik on one side and her and Christine on the other side and that had lead to Christine's terrible marriage and the alienation between her and Erik.

"Before," Nadir acknowledged. "Before the letters stopped and he lost faith." He looked his visitor straight in the eyes. "There is something important you came to tell me, correct? You still care about him, don't you? You did not stop writing because you supported the Vicomte's courtship of Mlle. Daaé, or did you?"

"Heaven, no!" Mme. Giry exclaimed. "I never supported that vile debauched scoundrel, and I wish I could have prevented this marriage from happening. And we never stopped writing," she added.

Nadir raised an eyebrow. "You never stopped writing?" he asked. "Neither did Mlle. Daaé? Then how come Erik never received your letters? I understand that one, maybe even two letters can get lost in the mail, but I know for sure that Erik did not receive any news from either one of you for months..."

"Neither did we," Mme. Giry explained, "though we now know that Erik, too, never stopped writing."

"No, he didn't," Nadir agreed. "He kept writing, asking you both for an explanation of your long silence. At first he feared that either one or both of you had fallen ill, then he began to fear you might have abandoned him, and when he read the announcement of Mlle. Daaé's wedding in the papers..."

Mme. Giry winced. She could well imagine what kind of a blow to Erik's fragile self-esteem that must have been and how much heartbreak Christine's supposed betrayal must have caused him. "That despicable piece of dirt of a Vicomte!" she exclaimed. "I should have known that he would publish his victory here to try and hurt Erik! It will be forever a mystery to me how one single person can cause so much pain! I am a peaceful person but if he were still alive I would personally skin that monster alive to pay him back for all the pain he has caused Erik and Christine!"

"The Vicomte?" Nadir's curiosity was piqued. "I deduce from your words that some – if not all – of what happened was his doing?"

Mme. Giry nodded. "He read our letters," she explained. "At least, he must have done so at first. He knew pretty much from the beginning that Erik was in London, so we think he read them, resealed them and then forwarded them to us. After a while he just kept them. Christine found them recently, when she was going through his things. She discovered a secret compartment in his desk, and there were all our letters, the ones we had written to Erik, that the Vicomte intercepted and thus were never posted and the ones that Erik had written to us, that we never received."

Nadir's eyes widened. "The Vicomte withheld all those letters?" he asked. "That's how he made Mlle. Daaé believe that Erik had abandoned her, so that she would marry him?"

Mme. Giry nodded. "Yes," she admitted, "but that's not all he did. He must have somehow guessed from what Erik wrote us that Miss Stanton was sweet on Erik, so he forged leaflets announcing a gala concert to celebrate Erik's engagement to her. He showed one of those leaflets to Christine as proof that Erik was unfaithful to her, and he threatened her to inform the police about Erik's whereabouts and to fire my daughter Meg, who had injured her ankle and could not dance for months, if she did not marry him at once."

Nadir gasped. "You have proof of all that?" he asked. "We must tell Erik immediately! It will make him see Christine's actions in a totally new light. I know that he still loves her, that it pained him immensely to see her treated with so little respect by her husband. He thought she was a shameless whore that had sold herself to the rich – and handsome – suitor and enjoyed being groped by him in front of others. But of course she only endured this behavior because that pig threatened to harm those she loved if she did not comply, am I correct?"

Mme. Giry nodded again. "Yes, we can prove that this is what happened. Christine also found hundreds of copies of that leaflet together with our letters. And we have doctors' bills and such to prove that Meg's injury happened a few days before Christine's wedding to that bastard. And you are right, he treated her like a whore and she endured, because if she did not take her clothes off whenever he asked her to, or at least unbuttoned her blouse for him, he threatened to inform the police that the suspected murderer nicknamed "The Phantom" was Monsieur Givenould of "The Music House" in London." She sighed. "Although she had been lead to believe that Erik had abandoned her for a rich heiress, Christine could not stop loving him and suffered through all sorts of humiliations and indignities in order to protect him."

Nadir was horrified. "That vile, vile man!" he exclaimed. "The poor girl, what must she have gone through! And Erik! It broke his heart to see her like that, to think of her as a fallen woman, and yet, he at least had Amanda-Ann! That woman was a godsend for him, I do not know what he might have done to himself had it not been for her. She helped him get over what he thought of as Christine's betrayal and she soothed the pain with her love, but Christine had nobody! On the contrary, she was used and abused by this dirty pig of a husband of hers."

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. "I knew something was not right," he muttered. "When she did this recital, I went to see her, to form an opinion of her myself, and I could not help but think that her soul was in the songs she sang, that her heart had been broken, that her love was hopeless, even though everything pointed towards her having betrayed Erik first. And now you say she had been tricked, forced into marrying that Vicomte..."

"That is the truth," Mme. Giry confirmed. "She felt betrayed by Erik when the Vicomte showed her that leaflet. The Vicomte had hoped that she would now agree to marry him out of spite, but when she still hesitated, he started to threaten my daughter. That's when she gave in, married him secretly behind my back and let him consummate the marriage immediately, then presented me with the fait accompli." She sighed. "At that I must be grateful that at least he married her. I fear that if he had just told her to become his... his... you know what I mean, she might have felt obliged to do that, too, in order to save Meg and Erik."

Nadir jumped to his feet. "Come with me," he said. "We must tell Erik. He needs to know the truth. For as much as I am convinced that Christine still loves Erik – what you told me about her sacrifice as well as what I guessed from her singing is proof enough for me – I am also certain that the boy still loves her. If there is a chance for them after all, he must see clear."

Mme. Giry smiled. "I think by now he knows," she said. "Christine went to see him and to show him all those letters and the leaflets she found..."

Nadir laughed. "She went to explain this to him herself? Then I bet we can just sit and wait. I have a feeling, we might soon get a phone call, inviting us to an engagement party!"

"You do not think, they might need … our intervention?" Mme. Giry asked. "Christine feared that while Erik might be able to understand her motives, he would not want her now after he saw how the Vicomte treated her."

"Once he knows everything, he will love her even more for what she had to go through," Nadir assured Mme. Giry. "Don't worry. The children will be fine. There will soon be a wedding, trust me!"

Xxxx

When Erik and Christine finally broke their second kiss, Christine nervously asked her fiancé, "what about your father-in-law? Will he have a problem with you marrying me? Maybe he will see it as a betrayal of Amanda-Ann, if you marry again, now that she is dead?"

Erik sighed. "I hope not," he said, "and I think he won't have a problem with it. When he asked me to marry Amanda-Ann, he told me that it would only be for a short period, that she would not live much longer, that I would soon be free again. He basically told me that I could then choose a wife to my liking, though at that time I thought you were lost to me and I did not even remotely consider the possibility of marrying again once Amanda-Ann would be dead."

He paused and thought about it for a few moments, then continued, "He also knows that there was a woman that I loved and that had married somebody else. If I now tell him how you were manipulated into marrying the Vicomte, that you never stopped loving me and that we have finally found out the truth and want to put the past behind us and start again, I doubt he will have a problem with that. On the contrary, I think he will be happy for us, especially, since Amanda-Ann always told us how much she liked you and how much she wished you could be happy as well. But if you have doubts, my love, then I will go home and talk to him, explain the situation to him. Leave that bag with me, so that I can show him proof of what drove us apart. You return to the hotel in the meantime. I will send you word there."

He sighed. "I wish I knew of someone we could trust to act as your chaperone, then we could have dinner together tonight..."

Christine smiled. "Will you be satisfied with Mme. Giry as my chaperone?" she asked. "For she would not let me travel alone..."

"Antoinette is here in London as well?" Erik exclaimed. "Why did you not tell me? That is fantastic! I need to talk to her as well and to apologize to her for doubting her. I even suspected she might have pushed you towards the rich patron in my absence for personal gain! And of course she is the perfect chaperone. Tell her then, to expect me at the hotel at seven o'clock, and that we will all dine together."

Christine promised to do that, then added, "I bet Mme. Giry will be relieved that we do not need your friend's intervention, that we resolved everything on our own!"

"My friend? What do you mean?" Erik asked, not quite understanding what Christine was talking about.

"Your friend, the Persian gentleman," Christine explained. "Monsieur Nadir Khan. Mme. Giry went to see him to explain the whole situation to him and to enlist his help, should you not believe me or ..." She blushed. "Or in case you had your doubts about marrying me after... you know... after how I allowed Raoul to..."

"I love you even more for what this pig did to you," Erik told her, then took her into his arms again and kissed her passionately one more time, before he hailed her a cab that would bring her back to the hotel.

Xxxx

Erik went home immediately. He found his father-in-law in his home office from where he was handling most of his business affairs.

Mr. Stanton looked up from his paperwork, when Erik entered. "You are early," he commented. "Is something wrong at the theater?"

Erik shook his head. "No, everything is fine at the theater," he said, then added, a bit hesitantly, "but something important has happened, nevertheless."

Mr. Stanton only now noticed how relaxed his son-in-law was, how brightly his eyes were shining, as if... as if the boy were happy, or... in love?

"You have finally found someone," he stated matter-of-factly. "The day has come that you want to tell me you have found a successor for my Amanda-Ann."

Erik felt the old man's pain as he heard him utter this suspicion. "Yes and no," he explained. "Yes, father, I am happy and very much in love, but no, it is not somebody new that I just found. I... how shall I explain this, but when I proposed to Amanda-Ann you knew that there had been another woman in my life, that she had not waited for me, that she had betrayed me and married somebody else, do you remember?"

Mr. Stanton nodded. He remembered only too well that embarrassing conversation, when he had offered his daughter to Erik.

"Well, she was not unfaithful after all," Erik continued. "She was tricked into marrying that other man. She was made to believe that I had abandoned her, that I had begun a new relationship behind her back – with Amanda-Ann. That now that I had the chance to marry an heiress, I did not care for her anymore."

Mr. Stanton frowned. "But how?" he asked. "I thought that girl was back in France so I assume that other man who tricked her was there as well. How could they suspect about you and my daughter? You said your girl was already married when I asked you to consider proposing to Amanda-Ann? There never was anything between you and her that could be interpreted as courtship before that day."

"He read our letters," Erik explained. "He must have hoped that I would fall for Amanda-Ann, or maybe he realized from what I wrote what I myself had not figured out at that time – that Amanda-Ann loved me – and used it to his advantage."

Erik opened the bag that Christine had left with him, pulled out one of the infamous leaflets and handed it to his father-in-law. "He used that to convince her of my betrayal," he said, then added, "and when she still hesitated, he threatened to fire her best friend."

Mr. Stanton raised an eyebrow. "He was her friend's boss?" he asked.

Erik took a deep breath. Now came the difficult part, now he had to explain who the woman was that he wanted to marry. "Her friend was – is – a dancer. She had injured her ankle and could not work for several months. He was … the patron."

"A dancer?" Mr. Stanton asked. "A patron? Are we talking about opera here? In Paris? Good God, Erik, de Chagny? That would be so like him! I never liked the man and always wondered why such a classy, talented girl had married him!"

Mr. Stanton fell into a chair, exhausted, as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. "Mme. de Chagny," he gasped. "She is the woman you love and thought had betrayed you. That's why you were so harsh towards her and always accused her of having sold herself to her husband for a life in luxury. And you are the man that my Amanda-Ann thought the Vicomtesse had lost somehow but could not forget..."

"Yes," Erik admitted. "Christine was looking through her late husband's papers when she discovered a hidden compartment in his desk, and in there the letters he had intercepted and hundreds of these leaflets. She came to me this morning to explain it all. We... we... "

"You both want to finally be together after all the heartbreak you have suffered," Mr. Stanton finished Erik's sentence. "And you want my blessing."

Erik gave his father-in-law a hopeful look. "It would mean a great deal to me. To both of us," he confessed. "And do not fear that we will ever forget Amanda-Ann. She has her place in my heart for all eternity, and my Christine considered her a friend..."

Mr. Stanton smiled. "Amanda-Ann loved you both very much," he said. "I think she would be happy for you." He pulled Erik close. "As to myself, I can never thank you enough for how you filled my poor girl's last year and a half with love and happiness and never let her feel that she was only your second choice. You deserve happiness. So, yes, Erik, I give you my blessing, and I hope you will not leave me alone once you are married. This house is large enough for all of us, and as Amanda-Ann's heir half of it belongs to you anyway. Even though you are about to remarry, you will always be my son-in-law in my heart."

Erik hugged his father-in-law. "Thank you," he mumbled. "I was not sure if you would not feel I was betraying Amanda-Ann's memory by marrying Christine..."

Mr. Stanton tried to hide his emotion. "Well, as a business man, I have to say it is a clever move of you to bind such a talented soprano to our theater by marrying her," he joked to lighten the mood.


End file.
